The Resident Sociopaths of 221B
by KattieWatsonHolmes
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, is a difficult man to get along with. John Watson, ex-army doctor misses the danger of the war. Both men are in for a surprise when their lives are turned completely upside down when they meet Lexi MacKenna, a girl that not even the great Sherlock Holmes can understand. Begins in ASiP. Eventual Sherlock&OC and John&OC Mary.
1. Prologue

**(A/N) So I've been writing this little beauty steadily. I have finally written enough to post the first chapter which I am very happy about because I have been dying to post this. Let me know what you think. Cheers! This first part does follow the episode nearly word for word, but I promise that the next chapter won't be at least in terms of my OC!**

**Song that inspired the chapter/ I listened to on an endless repeated loop obsessively while writing the chapter: Bad Boys by the Inner Circle. **

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Prologue~

"**It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts."-****Arthur Conan Doyle**

Detective Inspector Lestrade sat at the table looking uncomfortable as his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addressed the gathered press reporters. It was a necessary police conference. There had already been three suicides and he was no closer to figuring out exactly what linked them. He was way out of his depth. He was loath to admit that he needed help, but he didn't want to go to him for help as that would only inflate his already large ego. He couldn't ask her for help either, she had told him enough times already that she didn't work on cases any more.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" The reporter asked the already uncomfortable man.

"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...," Lestrade fumbled around with his answer unsure of how to respond properly to the question.

"But you can't have serial suicides," The same reporter said interrupting him.

"Well, apparently you can" Lestrade shot back sounding annoyed.

"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" A second reporter asked Lestrade and the man sighed heavily before answering.

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one," He said just as everybody's mobile phone trilled a text alert simultaneously. They all looked at their phones. It read the same message for everyone.

"_**Wrong!"**_

Donovan looked at the same message on her own phone briefly before looking up at everyone else in the room again. "If you've all got texts, please ignore them."

"Just says, 'Wrong'," The first reporter remarked sounding slightly confused.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that," Donovan responded huffily before regaining her composure. "Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" The second reporter asked getting a final question in.

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...," Lestrade said before he was once again cut off by the sound of everybody's mobile trilling another text alert.

Once again every message read _**"Wrong!"**_

"Says, 'Wrong' again," The first reporter remarked while Lestrade looked despairingly at Sally. It was going to be one of those days. Of course it was always one of those days around Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"One more question," Donovan told the reporters as she tried to wrap up the press conference before anything else could happen to make them look bad.

"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" Another reporter asked Lestrade bringing up the subject he was really hoping to avoid.

"I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered," Lestrade told him sounding completely unconvincing.

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" The reporter pressed causing Lestrade to lose his composure which had already been cracking.

"Well, don't commit suicide," Lestrade retorted causing the reporter to look at him in shock.

Donovan covered her mouth and murmured a warning to him "Daily Mail."

Lestrade grimaced and looked at the reporters again before trying to cover up his blunder. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Again all of the mobiles in the room trilled their text alerts, and once more each message only read "Wrong!" Lestrade's phone took a moment longer to alert him to a text. He looked down at his phone and read the text he had received.

_**You know where to find me. -SH**_

Lestrade exasperatedly put his phone back into his pocket before looking at the reporters as standing up. "Thank you," He said simply before leaving the room.

A short while later, Lestrade and Donovan were walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard together.

"You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots," Donovan told him sounding irritated.

"Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him," Lestrade shot back sounding more tired than annoyed. This recent case had meant many long hours for him. "Besides he's all we got."

"She was a much of a freak as he is," Donovan said pulling a disgusted face.

"She was bloody brilliant on cases though, you had to give her that," Lestrade remarked in the girl's defense.

"She was even more unpredictable than he is," Donovan pointed out snidely.

"Yeah, God help the poor sods who ever cross her," Lestrade remarked thoughtfully. God help anyone who ever truly crossed that woman. She was even more unpredictable than the world's only consulting detective. She had breezed into Scotland Yard one day. Unlike the others, Lestrade actually managed to get along with her bombshell of a personality. She was there and then she was gone. Yes, she was certainly even more unpredictable than Sherlock Holmes.


	2. My Mind Rebels At Stagnation

**(A/N) Here is the first chapter in which I introduce my OC. Please don't make any assumptions. I promise you she isn't just like Sherlock. She may seem that way at first, but she really isn't.**

******Song that inspired the chapter/ I listened to on an endless repeated loop obsessively while writing the chapter:Young Blood by the naked and famous**

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Chapter One ~ My Mind Rebels At Stagnation

"**My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation."- Arthur Conan Doyle**

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The sound of an alarm clock going off repeatedly was the first sound to grace my unconscious mind. In a sleep induced haze, I reached one hand out and fumbled around for a second before my hand came in contact with the infernal device. I wrapped my hand around the offending object before I chucked it as far away from me as possible. The sound it made when coming in contact with the wall was evidence to the fact that another alarm clock had met its demise. I groaned loudly as I buried my face deeper into my pillow and snuggled down into my sheets in an attempt to encourage sleep to return to me. I made another annoyed sound before I rolled over onto my back and opened my eyes knowing that trying to go back to sleep would be a lost cause at this point. My brain was already active. I blinked blindly for a few seconds staring up at the dust motes floating through the patches of sunlight coming through my curtains before my vision finally cleared.

I rose slowly into a sitting position before I surveyed the damage that my tantrum upon waking had induced. Save a smashed alarm clock there seemed to be no other casualties. I pulled myself unwillingly from my bed and padded over to the kitchen. I set about making my morning cup of tea. The methodical process of making tea was just what my brain needed to start waking up. At the current moment my brain still felt sluggish and weighed down by the effects of the almost comatose like sleep state I had so recently been blissfully engaged in. When the kettle started screaming I took it off the heat and poured the boiling hot water into a mug before adding the tea bags and waiting for the brew to steep.

I made my way back into my bedroom and crossed over to my dresser stepping over the mess of the alarm clock. I would deal with that later. I pulled some clothes out from my drawers before returning to the kitchen to pick up my mug of tea. I brought it into the bathroom with me and set it down on the counter as I started the shower. I sipped my tea and finger combed my hair as I waited for the shower to heat up. The plumbing in my flat was shotty at best. This fact, along with many other reasons including that my land lord was a sleazy creep, are what had led me to be looking for a new place of residence. The search had provided to be less than fruitful. This of course was mostly due to the fact that I could hardly afford a flat on my own. I only could afford this flat because of said sleazy landlord who was doing me a "favor".

I stepped into my now somewhat steamy shower and proceeded to complete the methodical process of bathing. My own inner dialogue was screaming at me to not even bother and just go and curl back up in bed. I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my tall, thin frame before crossing back into my bedroom. I smiled in satisfaction as I left a trail of water behind me on the wooden floors. I quickly pulled on my black skinny jeans and a cream colored kami. I pocketed my mobile as I passed my night stand before I hopped around the room pulling my tan riding boots on. I pulled on my hunter green jumper as I returned to my bath room to quickly dry my hair.

I had flat hunting to do if I was ever going to get out of this place, but I had already made plans to meet with a friend of mine, Mike Stamford, for lunch. My copper locks fell in waves to my waist as soon as they were dry. I yanked a brush through them roughly before pulling my hair back into a pony tail. The ends of my hair still reached the middle of my back, but at least my hair wouldn't fall in my face constantly. I swiped a little brown eye shadow over the lids of my hazel eyes, which looked greener today than brown, and brushed a little blush over my high cheekbones. I narrowed my eyes at my reflection for a second before clicking my tongue and cocking my head to the side. I nodded once happy with the way I looked before I left my bathroom and walked to the door pulling on my coat as I made my way into my kitchen. I snatched my wallet off of my cluttered kitchen table covered in various half-finished experiments. I slipped it into my pocket before returning to the door and grabbing my hunter green scarf off of its peg by the door slinging it on around my neck.

I briefly took a second to straighten myself out before I nodded it satisfaction and opened the door to my flat. I locked it securely behind me, though I doubted that would keep my landlord out if he really wanted to get in, before stomping noisily down the stairs and out to the curbing. I proceeded to hail a cab which was relatively easy. Cabbies were more willing to help young women out than men. It did help that this particular cabbie had a daughter around my age if the picture I caught on his dash as he pulled to a stop alongside me was any indication. I slipped inside the back of the cab and gave the cabbie the address for St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

I used to frequent a lot of my time at St. Bart's, but now I only graced it with my presence when I had reason too. I used to be something of a consultant for the police back in the day, but I had left that all behind and had taken up writing as my profession. I still kept up on my experiments and every so often I would use my friendship with Mike to gain me access to the morgue. Maybe I could twist his arm enough today to get him to let me examine the bodies from the triple suicide case that had been in the papers recently. I had been following the case even though I didn't work with the police anymore. It was interesting to say the least, serial suicides. So far the police had yet to connect the dots in the cases, I contemplated the idea of calling Lestrade to give him anything I had on the case, but I didn't want to get involved with that type of work anymore.

I chatted with the cabbie on the ride over. It only took a little prompting to get him to talk about his family. Cabbies could be the most interesting people to talk to. Every day they met all manners of people. They saw us at our worst and in some cases they could even be better to talk to than psychologist. This particular cabbie was a family man and he couldn't help but talk proudly about his children. His daughter was in Uni, a straight 'A' model student studying to be a doctor. People could be so fascinating to me. I paid the cabbie and tipped him for his company before steeping out into the cold air of London once again. I turned up the collar of my coat as I pulled it closer around me before I strode forward to the doors of the hospital.

I paused with my hand on the door for a brief second glancing down at my bright blue polished fingernails. My nail polish was slightly chipped which was evidence to my bad habit of biting my nails. It was an anxious habit of mine which I was trying to get rid of. I opened the door and stepped inside the hospital. I greeted the ladies at the reception desk who knew me well enough before I made my way over towards the lifts. I was almost there when I was suddenly roughly walked into. By the time I had looked up and brushed myself off from my sideways stumbled. All I saw was retreating figure of a man in a black coat.

"Oi, watch where you're going mate!" I indignantly shouted after the black clad figure. Whoever it was completely ignored me and continued walking on. I grumbled under my breath before deciding on taking the stairs instead of the lift.

I stomped down them angrily, letting each foot fall express the inner rage I felt over the injustice I had been shown. By the time I made it to the floor where Mike's office was located I felt a little bit better. Life was too short to let little things get to you. I might be generally easy to get along with, but I had a rather bad temper which was probably connected to my Irish bloodlines. I had the fiery locks of a bonny wee lass and the temper of an angry Irishman. My Irish heritage also led to some other bad habits. I knocked on Mike's office door before opening it with a big grin on my face.

"Mike," I greeted the man behind his desk as I skipped into his office. The man in question laughed heartily as he got up from his desk and made his way around it to greet me.

"Lexi, perfect timing as always. How have you been?" Mike asked me as he pulled me into a one armed hug.

"All I heard was Lexi and perfect in that sentence," I teased Mike with a laugh as the man returned behind his desk and sat down. I sat in the seat in front of his desk and crossed my legs after putting them on the corner of Mike's desk. "I've been rather good. Looking for a new flat. I can't seem to find one in London that is in my price range," I complained to Mike with a loud theatrical sigh.

"Why don't you find a flat mate then?" Mike asked me with a hearty chortle. He was used to my personality by now.

"Oh come on Mike, who would want me as a flat mate? I mean I know I am a joy to be around, but not everyone sees it that way," I told the man with a roll of my eyes before smirking.

"You know you are the second person to say that to me today," Mike mused and I snorted before shrugging.

"I'll look around for a flat mate, but I rather doubt I'll find anyone who would be willing to live with me. Who is going to put up with a girl who sings opera loudly, plays the viola at all times of day, and does dangerous experiments at their kitchen table?" I asked Mike with another dramatic sigh.

"You'd be surprised. I'm sure you'll find someone you can get along with Lexi."

"Suuuure," I drawled out lazily. "When that day comes, you'll be the first person I call. Well actually the second person. I already promised to call someone else first."

"Come on let's head out. I can't stand the sight of this office for another second," Mike suddenly said as he got up from behind his desk. I sighed again before smiling brightly and hopping out of my seat.

I took Mike's offered arm and we made our way out of Bart's together. Mike was one of the only people I had ever met that seemed to be able to get along with my winning personality. I was fluent in sarcasm and I was prone to dramatic displays. Combine that with my constantly changing moods and people wondered why I didn't have many friends. We stopped in a park by Bart's to catch up for a bit before going to lunch. It had been a while since I had seen Mike. I wasn't exactly busy, but I had been keeping myself occupied with various things.

"So what have you been up to?" Mike asked me as we sat down on a bench together.

"Oh, this and that you know. Writing, composing, doing experiments. I keep myself busy," I remarked as I played with my hands. I picked at my nail polish for a second before throwing my hands away from me and looking up at Mike with a grin. "How about you? How is the teaching going?"

"I'm teaching the biggest group of smart arses I think I have ever seen. Remind me a bit of you," Mike teased me with a laugh.

"I'm really gutted Mike, I thought you liked me," I said pretending to wipe away a fake tear before I snorted and grinned brightly. "Actually I take that as a compliment. My talent is finally being recognized."

Mike laughed at my antics before we sat in companionable since for a few seconds. I watched the people milling about the park. I made my silent deductions about everyone. It was something I had started to do when I was younger. I liked to watch people and deduce things about them. I didn't have the best of childhoods and I would often hide away for hours watching people. People fascinated me. Everyone was completely different. As humans we labeled each other based on our personalities, but if you took the time to sit and observe people you began to see what was beneath the surface.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. _Step, clink, step, clink. _ I closed my eyes and let my brain make its deductions by only auditory cues. The person was walking with a cane relying heavily on it. The person in question was stepping down heavily on their left hand side. I opened my eyes just as the man passed by us. Mike stared after the man and I saw the flash in his eyes that always accompanied recognition.

"John! John Watson!" Mike excitedly called out to the man who turned back as Mike stood up and hurried toward him smiling. From the way Mike was smiling I deduced that he knew the man well. He was probably an old friend of his.

The man, John apparently, was short in terms of height. He had sandy blond hair cut short and bright blue eyes. He wore casual jeans with a checked shirt and he had on a coat that screamed military man. He was leaning heavily on his cane which meant he had a limp, probably psychosomatic. So military man with a psychosomatic limp meant wounded in action. I smiled to myself as I watched to two men's interaction.

"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together," Mike told the man who looked very surprised that someone had recognized him. I frowned to myself as I calculated John's posture. He seemed slightly uncomfortable like he didn't want company, but didn't know how to refuse it.

"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike," John said as he took Mike's offered hand and shook it. "Hello, hi."

"Yeah, I know. I got fat!" Mike told him grinning as he gestured to himself. I snorted as I watched John fumbling for a response that didn't sound rude. I had seen the pictures of Mike in his younger days, it didn't surprise me that he was hard to recognize. People certainly changed in the course of just a few years.

"No," John said after a second trying to sound convincing. Mike seemed to buy it and I smiled to myself. John Watson… I think I liked him already. I was seriously going to have to do something about his attitude though. He just needed a little bit of encouragement. It couldn't be easy coming back from a war.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?" Mike asked John still grinning and I rolled my eyes at his lack of tact. Sure, ask the man with a cane why he was no longer in the military. It was so obvious that John might as well have a sign plastered on his back.

"I got shot," John told him awkwardly before both me looked embarrassed and stood in the most awkward silence I had ever witnessed. I jumped up from the bench and decided to ease the tension before it got worse. I bounced up to Mike's side startling both men. I stood there grinning madly with my hands linked behind my back swinging slowly from side to side.

"Hello," I said brightly as I smiled at John. The man looked surprised before Mike cleared his throat and chuckled at my display. Both men looked slightly relieved at my sudden presence. Defusing a situation was my specialty.

"John, meet my friend Alexandria MacKenna. Alex this is my old friend Doctor John Watson," Mike introduced us as John offered his hand out to me smiling tensely. Hmm I would have to fix that. Maybe a little dose of my sparkling personality would sort him out.

"Pleasure to meet you Dr. Watson," I said cheerfully as I shook his offered hand. Firm hand shake meant confidence in meeting new people. So he was find with meeting new people, but just didn't want any company. He was quiet a conundrum, but that just made him even more interesting to me.

"Just John please," He offered up as I continued to smile at him. Yes, I did indeed like John Watson. I cocked my head to the side studying him for a brief second. Not long enough to make him feel uncomfortable, but just long enough to fully take in his appearance and make silent deductions about him.

"Lexi," I told him after a moment's thought having finally come to a conclusion. Mike chuckled beside me knowing exactly what it was I was thinking about. I had a process when meeting new people. Either I liked them right away or I didn't. John was certainly one of the people I liked.

"Lexi helps me out over at Bart's," Mike explained to John who smiled back at me seemingly more genuinely. It was a start at least. I made it my personal goal for the day to cheer up John Watson. He seemed at odds with the world which was completely understandable.

"So you're a doctor?" John asked me making small talk. He seemed genuinely curious which showed that he was one of those people who truly cared about others. I liked him more and more with every passing sentence. Perhaps he would survive my scrutiny

I laughed and flashed him a grin before answering him. "Nope," I said popping the 'p' sound. "I dabble in a lot of things. I'm a writer," I answered him quirking one of my eyebrows up as I thought. Yeah, that sounded like a pretty good explanation for what I did. I was sort of a writer, though not exactly. I didn't have the capacity to sit still for too long to write.

"That must be fun," John remarked for lack of a better response. If only he knew the truth. I liked writing to be sure, but I had recently begun to miss my old job. I didn't like staying holed up in my flat for hours writing endlessly. I needed to be up and moving all of the time.

"It actually sounds a bit better than it is. Not that I care, gives me more time to annoy this guy," I told John as I pointed back at Mike. Mike and I had a rather odd relationship. He was one of my only friends mostly because he seemed to be one of the only people who could deal with all of my mood swings. I had worked with him a few times and now saw him only for social calls. He had seen all of my moods by now and nothing I did any more ever seemed to surprise him. He had told me once that he found my personality refreshing because I didn't care what people thought of me when I burst out with something.

"We were about to head out to lunch, why don't you join us? We can sit and catch up," Mike offered as John looked at me baffled by my personality. Oh John, that's not even the half of it I thought as I continued to grin at the man.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," John said carefully and I rolled my eyes at that. That was not his reason at all for not wanting to come. Well, I wasn't going to let him just walk off on his own, he wasn't going to get away from me that easily.

"You wouldn't be intruding. Besides I'm sure you have some good stories about Mike you could tell me. I always like having a little dirt on him," I mused as I flashed Mike a cheeky grin. Maybe I could use anything John told me as leverage to get into the morgue and see the bodies from the serial suicide case.

"Well, if you're sure," John mumbled before I smiled widely at him in encouragement. I unclasped my hands behind my back and patted Mike on the arm who had been watching John and me with an amused look on his face.

"Perfect!" I said before skipping slightly ahead of the two men allowing them time to chat and do those things that guys did. I heard Mike laughing behind me and I assumed that John probably had a look on his face that most people had after meeting me. I didn't even look back to see if they were following me. I was still heading to lunch whether they were coming with me or not.

"Yup, she's always like that," I heard Mike tell John behind me. I smirked to myself as I skipped ahead of the two men with my hands linked behind my back again. It was slightly cold today but other than that the day was rather nice. I really had to get out more often instead of spending a majority of my time in my flat. It was depressing in there, but it was quiet cheerful outside even if the sky was a dull gray color.

"Are you two…?" I heard John asking Mike and I snorted at his implication. I couldn't blame him though. I regarded Mike as the friend that I could always tease because he was one of the only people who really got my humor. He knew that I didn't mean anything by my teasing.

"No, God no. I met Lexi when she used to work with Scotland Yard. She was always coming into the morgue and I ended up meeting her one day. She keeps you on your toes. Strangest girl I have ever met, but she's bloody brilliant. You've made quite an impression on her I dare say," I heard Mike teasing John who spluttered for a few seconds in surprise.

"Really? Have I?" John asked after a second sounding a little gruffer like he was trying to hide his true feelings. Nice cover Watson I thought. I noticed that his foot falls seeped less heavy like he was relying less on his cane as he walked now. I had been right, his limp was psychosomatic. I hadn't lost my touch.

"She only introduces herself as Lexi to people she decides she likes," Mike explained to John as we made it back to the main street. I waited on the street corner for both men, joining their company again. I took Mike's offered arm as we crossed the street to the café across the way that we frequented on our visits with each other.

Mike opened the door for me and I entered the café with John following behind me. He seemed to be a little more comfortable around me now than before. I sat down at our usual table by the window and Mike winked at me as he sat across from me, forcing John to have to sit next to me. He was a sneaky blighter. A waitress brought us over some menus and I hid behind mine as John shot looks my way. I hummed the song La Habanera from the opera Carmen under my breath as I glanced over the menu. We ordered our food before settling into silence. I knew what was coming next if Mike's behavior was any indication. I wasn't surprised when a moment later he caught my eye and nodded his head in John's direction. It was an open invitation. I smiled deviously at Mike before I leaned with my hands under my chin and looked at John expectantly.

"So, John, Afghanistan or Iraq?" I asked the man who almost spit out the sip of tea he was drinking at the time. I smirked, unable to hide my amusement at having caught him so completely off guard. I had almost forgotten why I used to do this.

"Excuse me, sorry?" John asked me in shock as he put his cup of tea down on the table. Mike sat back in his chair getting ready for the show. I didn't often show off my skill. I had found quiet early on that people generally didn't like it when you could tell them everything about themselves. It had been a while since I had played this little game with Mike.

"Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?" I asked John again with a bright smile. He looked at Mike confused before looking back at me. I continued to look at him expectantly as I awaited his answer. The bewildered expression on John's face made me only smile wider, I loved these sort of reactions.

"You told her about me?" John asked Mike sounding surprised and Mike answered him with a chuckle. He grinned at me as I picked up my tea cup and took a sip of the hot beverage never taking my eyes off of John's face all the while.

"Not a word. I told you she was brilliant," Mike commented as I put my cup back onto the table. I threw my hands over my cheeks and made an overly dramatic shocked expression as I gasped.

"Oh Mike, you flatter. You made me blush," I teased him before smacking him lightly on his shoulder in jest. "I deduce people. Not as much as I used to, but Mike can't get enough of me showing off," I explained to John who was still looking at me dumbfounded.

"It was Afghanistan," John answered me after a second seeing my expectant expression as I still waited for his answer. Oh yeah I was good. I mentally patted myself on the back. Someone had to do it.

"Still got it," I said triumphantly as I looked at Mike and pointed at him. Mike rolled his eyes at me in mock irritation before he grinned back at me. "Pay up you," I told him as he pulled his wallet out and handed me a fiver.

"Wait sorry, did you have a bet?" John asked me as I pocket the money and looked back up at him. He looked even more baffled by me now than he had been before if that was even possible.

"Of sorts. Mike has to pay me every time he wants me to read someone and I get it right," I explained to John with a grin. "You are keeping my record straight. Never once has this man won," I told John as I nodded at Mike.

"You can't help showing off," Mike accused me with a grin as we bantered back and forth confusing John even more than before. Poor John. At least he seemed to not be completely put off with my personality just yet.

"But of course, it's my specialty," I told him sweetly with a seated bow as our waitress came back with our food. We ate in silence at first which was completely fine for all of us. John seemed more comfortable than before and after a while I got him to tell me a few stories about his and Mike's old endeavors. John Watson was an interesting man. He wasn't adjusting to civilian life well though. I could tell that he missed the danger of the battle fields. Life did seem a lot duller when you went from the action of war to the quiet humdrum of everyday life. I did miss the work I used to do. I had left for a reason though and I couldn't bring myself to getting back into that.

By the time we left the café with to go cups of coffee in hand, John had become more at ease around me and we had settled into a friendly companionship. He still looked at me bemused whenever I displayed my more exuberant parts of my personality, but he was smiling genuinely as we walked back across the street to the park. I held onto John's offered arm as we made our way back to the bench. I sat down on John's left hand side. I had determined that is limp was defiantly psychosomatic. It was more apparent when he was thinking about it, but it was nearly nonexistent whenever he forgot about it.

Mike caught my eye over John's head before looking back at John worriedly. He didn't have to be able to deduce people like I could to tell that John was not taking his discharge from service well. John took a sip from his coffee before looking at Mike seemingly oblivious to his concerns.

"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John asked him breaking the silence. I went back to observing people as I listened to their conversation. There was a man cutting through the park. He was a business man, married and having an affair. Those were the easiest sort of deductions. People often assumed that they could keep those secrets so well hidden, but if you knew what to look for their discretions were so obvious that it was like they had signs plastered all over them.

"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike told him as the three of us laughed together. Mike had switched to teaching around the same time I had met him around five years ago. That was when I was still working on cases. No matter how much Mike complained about his students I could tell that he actually enjoyed teaching. "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?" Mike asked John as I sipped at my coffee in quiet contemplation.

"I can't afford London on an Army pension."

"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ...," John said uncomfortably not even finishing his sentence as he shifted in his seat beside me. Mike looked awkwardly away from him and just sipped his coffee. I watched as John switched His own cup to his right hand and looked down at his left hand. He clenched it into a fist trying to control a tremor that had started in it. I sipped my coffee slowly as John glanced my way, trying to look like I hadn't just noticed what had happened. Mike looks round at him again and hesitated for a brief second before speaking again.

"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked John as I watched a young couple stroll through the park together. They looked so happy together. I frowned inwardly. There had been a time when I was like that, but those days had long since passed.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!" John said sarcastically and I snorted at that. I only knew too well how that was. My family, if you could even call them that, were the last people I would ever turn to for help.

"I dunno you could get a flatshare or something," Mike suggested shrugging. I rolled my eyes before shaking my head at Mike over John's head. That seemed to be his only piece of advice today.

"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John remarked and Mike chuckled thoughtfully. I perked up at John's words. What were the odds?

"What?" John asked him confused as Mike looked at me bemused. I grinned at him widely at our own inside joke.

"Well, you're the third person to say that to me today," Mike told him as he and I shared a knowing look. Maybe meeting John Watson had been fate, an act of the gods.

"Who were the first?" John asked him and Mike pointed at me. I smiled brightly at John and waved at him while grinning.

"Hi," I told John grinning as Mike chuckled at John's priceless expression. He was making the sort of expression you normally associated with goldfish. It was actually slightly cute to see him looking completely bewildered.

"Come on you two. I have someone I want you to meet. I'll probably regret introducing you Lexi, but it might at least be interesting," Mike told us as he suddenly stood up and waited for the two of us to join him.

I raised an eyebrow at Mike before standing and looking at him pointedly. "I'll have you know that I am a joy to be around," I told him in mock offence as my mobile alerted in my pocket. I pulled it out as John got up from the bench beside me. I heard him chuckle quietly at my comment as I unlocked my phone and scrolled to look at my text message.

"_**Enjoying your day?"**_The text message read.

"_**Oh just peachy. I think I made a new friend. You'd like him, he's an ex-army doctor. The sort of person you would approve of.-L**__" _I texted back with a grin on my face before stowing my phone away again in the inner pocket of my trench coat.

I followed after Mike who had started leading us away back towards Bart's. I threw my empty coffee cup away on the walk back over as I caught up with John and Mike. Mike was being very secretive about who he was bringing us to meet which meant that he didn't want me to figure out anything before he introduced us. I walked along with my hand on John's arm. John was quiet a gentleman. The two of us followed Mike into the hospital and from the direction he was headed I could tell that we were heading towards the labs. I raised my eyebrow steadily higher as we got to the door of one of the lab rooms and Mike knocked briefly before walking in without waiting for an answer.

John and Mike entered ahead of me before I stepped in behind them with my hands clasped behind my back. I took in the man standing at the far end of the lap who was using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. I admired his precision. He clearly wasn't a doctor, but he had skill over what he was doing that came with personal experience. The man was, well, he was handsome. He was wearing a slim fitting suit that showed off his tall, thin frame. I guessed his height to be around six feet about four inches taller than my 5'8 height. His hair was black and curly and his eyes were a mixture of blue and grey. He was quiet pale, like me. Unlike him though I had freckles that gave me a bit of color. He had rather high cheekbones that I swore could have cut steel. Pair that with his perfect cupid bow lips and you couldn't help but find him attractive. The man glanced across the room at us briefly before looking at his work again. His eyes lingered on me for a few seconds longer before he turned away.

John limed further into the room, looking around at all the equipment. "Well, bit different from my day," John remarked as he looked around the room.

"You've no idea!" Mike told him chuckling. I snorted at Mike's response as I walked further into the room. It was just like I remembered it from my younger days. I confined most of my experiments these days to the table in my kitchen.

I watched the man sit down at the far end of the room. As I brought my attention back to him "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," He asked Mike without even glancing up from his work. His voice was a deep baritone and I quirked my eyebrow up in interest. I studied the man who Mike had wanted us to meet. I couldn't place him entirely. Some things were obvious to deduce, but I couldn't figure out everything about him. I would need to engage him in conversation in order to make my final deductions about him.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked him. The way he spoke hinted that he was used to this sort of behavior from the man. So Mike knew him well enough. From the way he acted I wouldn't say they were exactly friends, but they were on good terms with one another.

"I prefer to text," The man told him sounding bored. He was interesting I would give him that. I couldn't figure out Mike's comment yet though. I couldn't see any reason why Mike might regret introducing the two of us.

"Sorry. It's in my coat," Mike told him not sounding sorry at all. I walked over to John's side and glanced around the room looking briefly at what he was working on. He was skilled in Chemistry, but not a chemist. He certainly didn't work at Bart's either and yet he had been given access to one of the labs. This man seemed even more interesting by the second. What I found the most interesting however was that I couldn't deduce anything about the man save a few obvious facts.

John fished in his back pocket and took out his own mobile. "Er, here. Use mine," He offered breaking through the silence that had settled over the room.

"Oh. Thank you," The man said sounding genuinely surprised by the offer. He glanced briefly at Mike before standing up and walking towards John and me. I regarded the man in front of me with a quirked eyebrows as I cocked my head to the side and studied him further. It was very rarely that I ever met someone I could not deduce. It both infuriated me and interested me at the same time.

"An old friend of mine, John Watson and a good friend of mine Alexandria MacKenna," Mike introduced the both of us as the man took the phone from John. He turned partially away from us and flipped open the keypad before starting to type on it. He glanced at me for a brief second our eyes meeting for the barest of seconds.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man asked suddenly and I smiled brightly as John frowned beside me. I looked at Mike at the same time as John did and he just smiled at the two of us knowingly. John looked back at the man as he continued to type. I contemplated the man with a new inquisitiveness as I remained silent.

"Sorry?" John asked him as I shared a look with Mike. Now I understood why he said he might regret introducing the two of us. I couldn't help but grin madly, it wasn't all the time that I met someone who could deduce people like I could. I had only met one other person actually.

"Which was it …Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked again as he briefly raised his eyes to study John before looking back to the phone. John hesitated at being asked the same question twice in the same day and looked a Mike confused. Mike only smiled at him smugly as I narrowed my eyes and studied the man who had certainly peaked my interest.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?" John asked him before the door opened cutting him off. The man looked up from the phone as a woman walked into the room carrying a mug of coffee. I recognized the woman as the pathologist I had met before in the morgue.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," The man said as he shut down John's phone and handed it back to him as Molly brought the mug over to him. He looked closely at her as he took the mug. "What happened to the lipstick?" He asked her forwardly and I raised one eyebrow at his question.

"It wasn't working for me," Molly asked him smiling awkwardly at him. Molly was a really nice girl. She was a bit timid and shy, but I liked her. I actually enjoyed her company when I was working down in the morgue. I could tell that she had a crush on this guy though, but the feelings were completely one sided.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," The man told her as he turned and walked back to his station. I watched him take a sip from the mug before grimacing at the taste and setting the mug down. I was quiet sure that he wasn't going to touch it again. He certainly didn't seem like he cared about offending people which could be seen as either a good or bad thing.

"... Okay," Molly said quietly as she turned and headed back towards the door dejectedly.

"Don't listen to him Molls. You are looking fabulous to today. I love what you did with you hair," I complimented her even though her hair was the same way it always was. Girls had to stick together and I considered Molly Hooper to be one of my only friends in life which pushed the total up to three. Maybe four now if you could count John as a new friend.

"Thanks Alex. It's nice to see you, it's been a while since you've come in," Molly said smiling brightly at me. I had successfully given her a confidence boost. I was doing well today. I really had to get out and talk to people more often. Hell, maybe I should become a psychiatrist. I was actually surprisingly good at this whole talking to people malarkey. Maybe that was because I had such a messed up life that I didn't care what came out of my mouth. I was going to tell you like it was.

"Been a bit busy. I'll come by soon to see you and we can catch up," I told Molly who happily agreed to the plans before making her way back towards the door with a wave over her shoulder at me. Oh yeah, I was on fire today. Maybe this new guy had something I could fix too. He certainly needed some lessons on people skills.

"How do you feel about the violin?" The man said suddenly his voice cutting through the silence. John looked at Molly, but she was already walking out of the door. He glanced briefly at Mike who was still smiling smugly at the two of us before the both of us came to the conclusion that he was talking to the two of us.

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked him at the same time as I snorted at the randomness of the question.

The man was typing away on a laptop as he started talking again. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He said as he looked at the two of us. "Would that bother either of you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other," He finished as he threw a hideously false smile at us. I rolled my eyes at him. Mood swings was this guy's middle name.

John looked at him blankly before looking back at Mike. "Oh, you ... you told him about us?" John asked Mike sounding confused. I walked around John and down the lab table glancing over at the experiment that the man had been conducting. The man in question raised an eyebrow at me as I looked over his work, but I paid him no heed. In fact, I completely ignored him and went about with what I was doing.

"Not a word," Mike answered him smugly and I shared a look with Mike for a brief second as I remained silent and let John do all of the talking. He seemed to have a pretty good handle on things. I didn't see a reason for me to jump into the conversation just yet.

"Then who said anything about flat mates?" John asked the man as he turned back to him sounding huffy. That would be the military side coming out. I smiled amused by John's reaction.

The man got up and picked up a great coat before pulling it on. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan and a friend he holds in a high regard. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked him as he looked at me for an answer. I flashed him a smile as the man ignored the question and wrapped a navy scarf around his neck. It was worn, a good few years old which meant that he loved that scarf. He picked up his mobile and checked it briefly. Yeah, sure he didn't have service I thought amusedly as I caught the man's eye. He caught my slightly raised eyebrow as I looked at him and then at his phone. I saw the barest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth which gave his little ruse away.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together the three of us ought to be able to afford it," The man said as he walked towards John. I walked back over to Mike and stopped at the end of the lab table closer to John as I stood with my fingers laced behind my back. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry…gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary," He continued as he put his phone into the inside pocket of his coat before walking past John and heading for the door. His eyes swept over me again as he walked past me.

"Is that it?" John asked him sounding flabbergasted. The man turned back from the door and strolled closer to the two of us again.

"Is that what?" The man asked him. Any normal person might have felt uncomfortable under his gaze, but I only raised an eyebrow at him and crossed my arms in front of my chest. I popped my hip to the right in a general display of my attitude.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" John asked him sounding slightly irate. I had to say this was rather entertaining to watch.

"Problem?" The man asked him quirking one of his eyebrows. John smiled at him in disbelief before looking across to Mike for help. Mike only continued to smile so John looked back at the younger man in front of us.

John looked at me briefly for a second and after taking in my stance he decided to handle this for the both of us. "We don't know a thing about each other; we don't know where we're meeting; we don't even know your name."

The man looked at the both of us closely for a second. I saw a flash of amusement take over his features as he looked at me which only made me narrow my eyes at him before he started speaking. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him…possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic…quite correctly, I'm afraid." John down at his leg and cane and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He asked us smugly as he turned and walked to the door again. He opened it and walked through, but then he leaned back into the room again. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," He said as he click-winked at me before looking round at Mike. "Afternoon."

Mike raised a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappeared from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turned and looked at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiled and nodded at him as I uncrossed my arms and looked right at Mike. "Yeah. He's always like that," Mike told us as I smiled brightly at him.

I smiled at John before looking back at Mike a thought already forming in my head. "I believe this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," I remarked with a large grin on my face. John looked at me in disbelief as Mike shook his head at me.

"I was right, I am going to regret introducing you two," Mike said with a groan as I rushed to the door, my hair flying wildly behind me.

"It was nice meeting you John, I'll see you tomorrow!" I shouted over my shoulder as I opened the door and started to walk out. I didn't even have to speak one word to the man to know that I was going to end up liking him.

"Are you seriously going to meet him tomorrow?" John called after me and I popped my head back inside of the room with a big grin on my face.

"Of course," I told John as if he already should have known this about me. "I'll see you later Mike," I told the man who looked at me slightly horrified by what he had wrought before I left the room again. I had some really important things to take care of now.

"Is she seriously going to meet him tomorrow?" I heard John asking Mike in disbelief as Mike chuckled in response as the door was closing. I paused for a brief moment to listen to the two men. People said the most interesting things when they thought you couldn't hear them.

"That's Lexi for you," I heard Mike tell John simply and I chortled to myself as I made my way out of Bart's and back out into the cold chill of the London afternoon. I hailed a cab and slipped inside the backseat once again. I gave the cabbie the address and he pulled out onto the road and back into traffic. I looked out the window watching the streets of London speeding past me as I smiled to myself. I pulled out my phone and read the text message that had come through.

"_**Causing any trouble?"**_

"_**You know me, I'm always causing trouble. Where would be the fun in life if I didn't cause trouble? You should try it sometimes, maybe you would like it. -L"**_ I texted back with a small chuckle knowing that that was never going to happen.

Sherlock Holmes, I thought in my head. He might just be the rudest man I had ever met, but I couldn't help but find him completely interesting. I found myself seriously considering sharing a flat with the two men I had only just met. John would be a hard man to sell on the idea, but Sherlock seemed like the sort of person I could get along with. Maybe Mike had been right, maybe there was someone out there that could handle my personality. I nodded decisively to myself. The game was on and the streets of London had better be ready for me.


	3. The Game Is On

**(A/N) In which Lexi and Sherlock enter the fray of what Lexi likes to call "The Case of the Killer Cabbie." How will John and Sherlock fair against Lexi and how will John deal with getting caught up in the chaos? **

**Song that inspired the chapter which I do recommend you listen to: Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya! by Dropkick Murphys.**

* * *

Chapter Two- The Game Is On

"'**Come, Watson, come!' he cried. 'The game is afoot.'"― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes**

I had returned home the day before in a rather good mood. I contemplated whether or not I was actually going to look at the flat with the two men. I had finally decided that I was going to show up. The worst that could happen was that I found out that both men were psychopathic murders. I trusted my judge of character however and my trust in Mike that he wouldn't introduce me to two men that could potentially harm me. John was a military man and his hesitation at Sherlock's offer until he got more information out of the man meant he was more of the cautious type. I really liked John and it didn't happen too often that I found someone that I could instantly decide I liked. I would be surprised to see if he would come or not. I think curiosity would win out with him. Sherlock on the other hand was just plain rude if his treatment of Molly was any indication, but beyond that he seemed like someone I could get along with. He was so much like someone else I knew too and I had learnt how to deal with him pretty quickly. I actually found his delivery oddly refreshing.

I hated people who were fake to your face because they thought it was too rude to tell you the blatant truth. I would rather someone come straight out and tell me exactly what was on their mind rather than try and spare my feelings by being fake. If I liked you I showed it and if I didn't like you, you defiantly knew it. The world would be so much easier to understand if people stopped beating around the bush and actually spoke their minds. Not everyone saw it that way though. Sherlock either didn't care what people thought about him, which was why he spoke the way he wanted to, or he really didn't realize that what he was doing might be considered to be hurtful by some people.

Growing up I learnt that being the way I am, seeing the world differently than most, it had its cost. I saw the puzzles in everything, they were everywhere and people were the most brilliant puzzles. Like John who had been injured in war, but missed the battlefield and Sherlock who was just one large puzzle that even I couldn't understand fully. Once I would start looking, it was always impossible to stop looking for the next puzzle, something to occupy my mind with. People, all the deceits and disillusions in everything they did, everything that made up their lives were some of the most interesting puzzles I could find. Not everyone appreciated seeing as such. It was a lonely way to live to be sure, but that was just the cost of being able to see what others missed. Well, may people saw, but did not observe.

I felt envy for those who could go through life not seeing the connections I saw. When I looked at someone, I could always deduce everything about them. Sure, every now and then I would make a mistake, but that was rare. I wanted to be able to meet someone and get to know them without knowing everything about them from a first glance. I actually wanted to take the time to get to know someone. Sherlock, I didn't know everything about him. Some things were easy to deduce of course, but he remained a puzzle to me. I was intrigued by him because of this, because for once I didn't know everything about someone I had met. I only knew one other person I couldn't fully understand who still surprised me often. I knew Sherlock suffered the same lonely existence I did. That was apparent by the way he had told Mike that it would be hard to find him a flat mate.

I was curious to see if John would turn up or not. To him, Sherlock and I must be the strangest people he had ever met. Even he gave me the same looks as everyone else did after meeting me. Mike had gotten used to my personality. Molly didn't really seem to mind my strangeness, but after seeing how Sherlock acted around her, she was probably too used to it by now. I acted the way I did because of many years of being on my own, many years where I was pushed around for just being myself. I kind of hoped that John would turn up, though he had many reasons why he shouldn't. I just had this feeling that something good could come out of knowing him and Sherlock. My interest in Sherlock had led to me doing an internet search on his name. The one thing I had found of note was a website called the **Science of Deduction** which I found out was one he used for cases. He also had a few things posted on the site such as mysterious messages in code sent to him by an Anonymous stalker. I added that fun little fact to the long list I was compiling on anything odd or interesting about Sherlock Holmes in my attempt to figure him out.

* * *

**I'm Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective.**

**I'm not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn't understand. If you've got a problem that you want me to solve, then contact me. Interesting cases only please.**

**This is what I do:**

**1. I observe everything.**

**2. From what I observe, I deduce everything.**

**3. When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth.**

**If you need assistance, contact me and we'll discuss its potential.**

* * *

Someone was slightly egotistical. "I'm not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn't understand," I said to myself in a mock impression of Sherlock's deep baritone. It didn't come out nearly as perfect as I would have liked due to my high soprano which currently had a bit of an Irish lilt to it in my tired state. I snorted to myself and rolled my eyes at my computer screen. Let him try that one on me. I'm not saying I am not a tad bit egotistical myself. I wasn't known for always being modest, but it was just the way he was so full of himself. That might need a little bit of work. Interesting cases only? I laughed, actually laughed, at that. Yeah there had to be tons of those in London. I should know, I remembered some of the cases I had been approached with in the past. I liked what he said though, he observed everything, deduced from what he observed, and once he eliminated what couldn't be, whatever crazy thing left over had to be the answer.

Well, whether it was a good idea or not I was going to check out this flat with them on Baker Street. It wasn't like I had to make a decision to take the flat or not right now. I would at show up and check the place out. Even living with two wackos would be better than where I was currently living. I swept my eyes over my flat which had books, papers, and boxes in just about every inch of available room. I had more case boxes stored away in the attic. This place was depressing to look at. I looked into the kitchen where my chemistry equipment was set up and sighed. I needed a place I could actually do some work in. This place was cheap, which was the only reason I had taken it. Sharing rent with two flat mates would mean I could move out of here and into a better place. I needed a fresh start. I needed to start getting my life back together. It had been four years and I was still avoiding everything that reminded me of my old life. What the hell? It couldn't hurt anything if I got to know two more people and it certainly seemed like Sherlock and John might be a little bit different than anyone I had ever met before.

At six thirty the next evening I had already made my way out of my flat and hailed a cab over to Baker Street. I was dressed similarly to the day before, but I had left my hair flowing down around me rather than tying it back. I fidgeted in my seat on the short ride over to Baker Street. I was actually excited to be seeing the two men again. John was interesting to talk to and I had yet to actually talk to Sherlock. I preferred to stay silent when I was observing people. It would be interesting to see how he acted today when he was not necessarily working. I smiled widely to myself as the cab pulled up along the curbing next to the door of 221B just as Sherlock was getting out of the cab in front of mine. I paid the cabbie and thanked him as I slid out of the cab and stepped out onto the street. John was standing over by the door marked 221B as I walked over to join him with a wide grin plastered on my face. I was glad that John had turned up after all. I was right, his curiosity over the two of us had ultimately won out.

"Hello," Sherlock greeted us as he reached through the window of his cab and handed some money to the cab driver. "Thank you," He said as John and I turned to face him as he walked over to us.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. Ms. MacKenna," John greeted us as he offered Sherlock his hand. I wrinkled my nose when John called me Ms. MacKenna. I hadn't been called that for a while and I had swiftly put an end to that. Ms. MacKenna made me sound old. Granted I was thirty-one, but I didn't like all of the formalities. I had been raised by them and that was a period of my life that I wanted to forget.

"Sherlock, please," He responded as they shook hands. Men, I would never fully understand them. They had so many customs, so many little things I had observed them doing. There were certain unspoken rituals that men seemed to have when greeting each other that every man understood. It was the same thing with women though. The unspoken warning to other women over a man that had already been claimed. The way women could act nice to each other for all the public to see while they both mutual hated one another, their silent comments unheard, but certainly understood. These observable transactions were some of the most interesting puzzles that remained to be solved. I doubted that I would ever truly understand men, but I wasn't meant to though. This was going to be interesting, living with two men. It would probably be interesting for them to be living with me. I was told I was a hard to handle, not that I believed it.

"Just Lexi," I told both men as I shook their hands in turn with a pleasant smile on my face. This might not actually be too bad. They both seemed rather nice. If anything they were a step up from my sleazy landlord so that was something at least. It might take some time getting used to, but as long as they didn't mind my tendency to sing opera or the fact that I often displayed some rather bad habits due to my Irish heritage, we should all get along perfectly well without killing one another.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive," John commented as he looked around the street. I nodded my head in agreement. This flat was certainly in a better part of London than my flat was. The perks of being Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out," Sherlock told us and I raised one of my eyebrows at him in amusement. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked him confused as I smiled beside him. Oh this was just perfect. I quiet possibly had just found another person I would like right away.

"Oh no. I ensured it," He answered John with a smile as the front door opened to reveal the aforementioned Mrs Hudson. She opened her arms up to the younger man with a smile on her face.

"Sherlock, hello," She greeted him as Sherlock turned and walked into her arms. He hugged her briefly before steeping back to introduce the two of us. I wasn't overly surprised by this display of affection even if it was coming from Sherlock. This Mrs. Hudson seemed like the mothering type.

"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson and Lexi MacKenna," Sherlock introduced us as he pointed us out in turn to the elderly woman. I smiled brightly back at her. For once I didn't try to deduce someone I had just met. Of course that didn't mean that I didn't notice a lot more about the woman that an average person wouldn't, I just didn't put effort into trying to deduce her.

"Hello," Mrs Hudson greeted us with a warm smile. Yup, I liked her, there was no decision that even had to be made. I was starting to think that meeting Sherlock and John was not an accident. It was like fate had finally brought us together.

"How do?" John greeted her as he shook her hand. Again with the formalities. Maybe I just had a problem with it because I was a very informal sort of person. Ugh, there was no way I was going to be all formal around them. They would have to learn to deal with me sometime and now seemed like a good time to get acquainted with what someone had once called my "bombshell" of a personality.

"Come in," Mrs Hudson said as she gestured for us to enter. Shooing us inside out of the cold, London air.

"Thank you," John told her as he stepped inside of 221B leaving Sherlock and I standing next to each other outside of the door.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked me as he gestured for me to enter before him.

"I think so," I answered him with a smile as I stepped over the threshold. Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind us as Sherlock passed by me in the hallway his shoulder brushing against mine even though there was plenty of room. It was almost like he was judging my reaction to being close to people. He looked back at me briefly before he trotted up the stairs to the first floor. He paused and waited for the two of us to join him. John started up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson greeted me.

"Hello dear," She said as she gave me a motherly hug. I smiled at the woman as she released me. It had been a long time since I had been given such a warm hug. Yeah, Mike hugged me some times in greeting, but those were fleeting hugs of companionship. I hadn't been given a hug that felt affectionate in such a long time.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," I told Mrs. Hudson with a bright smile. I could see why even Sherlock seemed to warm to this woman. There was no way you couldn't love her immediately. She tittered away for a second longer over me before pushing me toward the stairs. I quickly ascended the stairs meeting John at the top of the stairs just as he reached the first floor. Sherlock opened the door ahead of him and walked through, revealing the living room of the flat.

John and I followed him through the door and we looked around the room together. I smiled as I saw the possessions and boxes scattered around the room in a sort of organized chaos. I found the mess rather homely. It made the place actually looked lived in rather than kept neat like a show room. A home was supposed to be lived in, not be put on display. Actually, it kind of reminded me of my own flat. I always liked things scattered about rather than organized into its "proper" place. It was like a visual representation of the way my brain worked. Scattered and unorganized, but I could find everything I was looking for.

"Well, this could be very nice," John commented as I walked past him into the living and looked around the clutter at all of the odds and ends. There was a stack of books on a desk and I ran my hand over the spines reading the titles. There were books on subjects ranging from bee keeping to chemistry in the stack. Well at least we had something in common. I made a metal note of that as I continued exploring his possessions. Each one provided me a clue to the character of Sherlock Holmes.

"Very nice. Perfect. I am absolutely loving this," I said with a smile as I straightened up and turned around. My eyes scanned the room before falling on the violin we had been warned about. Well, it seemed like Sherlock might not mind my viola playing. His violin looked to be in good condition. I made the same assumption about it as I had his scarf. It was reasonably old, but well cared for which meant it was a possession that Sherlock prized above the rest of his things.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," Sherlock stated as he looked around the flat happily. It was the first time I had ever seen the man actually smile. It was a good look on him, I mused. That would be my experiment, I would try to see what I could to get Sherlock Holmes to smile.

"So I went straight ahead and moved in," He continued as John simultaneously said "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh." He paused, embarrassed as he realized what Sherlock was saying and I held back my giggle at his blunder. Nice one Watson, I thought as a grin spread over my face.

"So this is all ...," John remarked uncomfortably as he took in the clutter around the room. Yes, the room was a little disorganized, but that was easily taken care of. He should see my flat if he thought this was bad. Actually, he shouldn't. I had some things lying around the place that might scare him off. Like the sword…hmmm I would have to find a place to put that. Maybe Sherlock would let me hang it up over the mantel. That could work.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," Sherlock said as he walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little. He threw a couple of folders into a box and then took some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he proceeded to put them onto the mantelpiece and then stab a multi tool knife into them. That was as good a letter box as any, of course people looked at you funny when you went to pay bills and they had large stab marks in them. Not that I knew from experience….

"I actually like the clutter. It's sort of like an organized mess. Very homey," I remarked with a grin and I noticed the small smile that graced Sherlock's face. Sherlock Homes zero, me one. Not like Sherlock actually knew that I would be keeping score for the amount of times I was able to make him smile. It was then that I was interrupted in my musings by John who lifted up his cane to point at something on the mantelpiece that I had somehow yet to notice.

"That's a skull," He remarked and I looked to where he was pointing to find that there was indeed a skull on the corner of the mantelpiece. Please tell me it was real! I could just see getting Sherlock to do a whole Shakespeare rendition for me. Not like that was probably ever going to happen.

"A wonderful observation Watson," I muttered under my breath with a hint of a smile in my voice. Sherlock as it appeared seem to hear me given the fact that he smirked at my comment, but thankfully John seemed oblivious to the fact that I had said anything.

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'...,"Sherlock told him as I crossed the room and picked up the skull in one hand. Sherlock was looking me in a manner that if looks could kill I might possibly be dead. I ignored him as I stared at the skull and adopted a Shakespearean pose. I cleared my throat before I pulled the most serious expression I could muster.

"Alas poor Yorrick… I knew him well," I recited dramatically before putting it back in its proper place with a little giggle. Best not to push Sherlock too far. I could now cross that off of my "Always Wanted to Do" list. I heard John cover up a laugh with a none to convincing cough behind me. Smooth Watson, real smooth. When I looked back Sherlock was looking at me with an expression that was a cross between annoyance and perplexity. Bless his heart, he had yet to see the extent of my behavior.

It was now that Mrs Hudson made her appearance. She picked up a cup and saucer that Sherlock had left on a table while the man in question took off his greatcoat and scarf and hug them up behind the door. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? Ms. MacKenna? There's two other bedrooms, one upstairs and one down, if you'll be needing three bedrooms,"Mrs Hudson said as she looked at the two of us expectantly.

"Of course we'll be needing three," John told her and I snorted at the exact implications of Mrs Hudson's words. Could this woman be any more amazing? It was amusing to watch John get so completely uncomfortable with a situation. She either thought I was in a relationship with John or Sherlock or that John and Sherlock were in a relationship.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here," Mrs. Hudson told us confidentially before lowering her voice to a whisper at the end of her sentence. "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones and I know how young people are these days living together before marriage," Mrs. Hudson nodded as she tried to figure out the nature of our relationships with each other.

John looked across the room to Sherlock as if expecting him to confirm that they were not involved in that way, but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what Mrs. Hudson was insinuating. John looked back at me for help and I only shrugged before looking at Mrs. Hudson. "Well I've never tried polygamy before and I doubt John or Sherlock want to try bisexual polygamy. I'll let you know if that ever changes though," I told the woman as I crossed over to the other side of the room. John looked at me flabbergasted and started spluttering as his cheeks grew slightly pink. I only shrugged at him again as I looked at the things Sherlock had lying out. Sherlock and I looked up at each other for a brief moment, both of us smirking at each other as Mrs. Hudson walked across to the kitchen. I looked up at her just as she turned back and frowned at Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made," She scolded him before she went into the kitchen and started to tidy it up a bit. I glanced into the kitchen and saw that the kitchen table was covered in chemistry equipment. Hmm maybe I could get Sherlock to let me use some of his equipment for my own experiments. Doing experiments at the kitchen table didn't look like it was going to be a problem around Sherlock.

John walked over to one of the two arm chairs in the room and plumped the cushion on the chair before dropping heavily down into it. He looked across the room at Sherlock who is still tidying up a little though now it was more for show than an actual attempt and clearing anything up. "I looked you up on the internet last night," John said suddenly and I turned briefly to look at him as I picked up a book from the stack on bee keeping and flipped through the pages with interest.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked him abandoning his attempt and cleaning as he turned around.

"Found your website, _**The Science of Deduction**_."

"What did you think?" Sherlock asked him smiling proudly as I closed the book and placed it back on the top of the stack. I walked over to the other empty arm chair and sat myself down on it, crossing my legs at the knee. I folded my hands on top of my knees before looking between both men to watch their conversation with one eyebrow raised in interest.

John threw Sherlock a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look and I watched as Sherlock's face fell. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone," Sherlock responded snappishly.

"How?" John asked him incredulously. Sherlock smiled and turned away from him. I knew that smugness anywhere, it was a look that had graced my own face on many occasions.

"I rather liked your website. I particularly found your analysis of tobacco ash fascinating," I said as I lounged back into the chair kicking my legs up over the arm. Sherlock and John turned to look at me. John looked at me in exasperation while Sherlock smirked at me but before he could respond Mrs. Hudson walked out of the kitchen reading the newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same," Mrs. Hudson said as Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room and looked down at the street below. I heard the sounds of a car pulling up outside.

As Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were the only to people who currently lived at 221B and I was quiet sure that Mrs. Hudson wasn't expecting any visitors that could only mean that the person who had just arrived was coming to see Sherlock. Given the nature of his profession that person was probably from the police. Three serial suicides and now someone from the police was coming to visit the world's only consulting detective. That could only mean one thing.

"Four," Sherlock and I said in unison as I got to my feet. I had never seen someone turn around faster than he did in that moment. "There's been a fourth," I continued ignoring the looks that were being sent my way by three pairs of eyes.

"Yes, and there's something different this time," Sherlock said after a moment. He continued to watch me closely almost as if it was the first time he had actually looked at me.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asked the two of us sounding completely confused. It was then that we all heard the door opening down stairs before the sound of loud footfalls could be heard coming up the stairs. A second later an old friend I knew quiet well walked into the door.

"Where?" Sherlock asked D.I. Lestrade barely even giving him a second to catch his breath.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade told him as I watched the man casually waiting for him to take notice of me.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different," Sherlock asked him sounding if anything slightly annoyed. I could tell that he was secretly pleased that Lestrade had come to him with a case. He had been waiting for this.

"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade told him sounding extremely tired. The lines on his face provided all the evidence I needed to deduce that he was nearing his breaking point.

"Yeah."

"This one did," Lestrade told him. I put my hands on my hips and raised one of my eyebrows before clearing my throat. Lestrade and Sherlock both looked in my direction as I mock glared at Lestrade.

"Are you just going to stand there and ignore me Greg? I would have thought you missed me more than that. I haven't seen you in forever! Don't I even get a hug?" I asked him with a fake note of hurt in my voice. The man stared at me looking completely dumbfounded. Yeah, I had that effect on people.

"Lexi? What the hell are you doing here? No, wait, don't tell me. I don't think I even want to know," Lestrade said as he ran a hand down his face and sighed tiredly. I laughed at his disgruntled expression before I skipped over to his side and smacked him playfully on the arm.

"Aww you know you've missed me. Come here," I said before I pulled the man into a hug. He returned it awkwardly as Sherlock cleared his throat behind us. I pulled away from my hug and looked back at Sherlock with a pout. Nobody interrupted me when I was getting my hug on, not even Sherlock Holmes. I stuck my tongue out at him. I knew it was childish, but I didn't care.

"You two know each other?" Sherlock remarked with one raised eyebrow as he pointed between the two of us. I shook my head at him and rolled my eyes as I snorted loudly.

"No shit Sherlock. I just go around hugging random people I don't know," I told him with an exasperated look before giggling at his irritated expression he had thrown my way.

"Lexi used to work with me on cases when you were absent," Lestrade explained to Sherlock as I smiled madly beside him. It had been a while since I had seen Greg. Of course, I really didn't have a reason for going to see him much these days. There were the occasional social visits, but those were few and far between lately. Sherlock stared blankly back at the two of us as Lestrade looked pointedly at me. "Any chance I can get you to come along and take a look?"

"Greg," I whined with a roll of my eyes. "I don't consult anymore, you know that," I told him as I crossed my arms and fixed him with a stern look. I didn't work cases for a reason and he knew it. The last case I had worked on had been the reason I had left. I didn't like talking about it either.

"All the same, I would really appreciate it if you would come along. I need you Lexi, God help me I need you," Lestrade tried again trying to appeal to my interest. I had to admit this case was interesting. Three serial suicides and then finally a note. I groaned inwardly, I just couldn't resist. "Will you come?" Lestrade asked turning away from me and directing his question at Sherlock.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked him seeming to recover from whatever thing had been going on with him since Lestrade had announced that I had used to work on cases with him.

"It's Anderson," Lestrade told us reluctantly. Well that just killed any chance he had of getting me to possibly agree to coming to take a look for him.

"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock and I said in unison as we both grimaced. Sherlock shot me an annoyed look and I raised an eyebrow at him in response. He was in for a real wakeup call if he thought he was the only genius in the room. I didn't like to boast, but I was intelligent.

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade said trying to defuse the tension between Sherlock and me. He could glare at me all he wanted to. Most people probably backed down under the look he was giving me, but I only smiled back at him looking completely innocent.

"I need an assistant," Sherlock complained. I snorted at him before turning back to look at Greg. Against my better judgment I was at least going to go and take a look at the crime scene. If anything it would at least annoy Sherlock. And…it would be good for me though I was loath to admit it.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked us again. I felt bad for the guy, he seemed rather desperate for the help. The fact that he was even asking me when he knew that I didn't work cases anymore meant that he really was out of his depth.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind," Sherlock answered him. Lestrade looked at me waiting for an answer and I sighed heavily. If I told him yes I would have a harder time saying no to him in the future. If I said no it would only give Sherlock smug satisfaction because he would think I was backing off. I was not going to give him that satisfaction. Damn Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"I'll come, but you owe me," I finally told Lestrade who smiled at me smugly.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," Lestrade teased me and I narrowed my eyes at him in a glare.

"This doesn't change anything Lestrade. I'll come look at the crime scene, but this does not mean I am coming back," I warned the man as I poked him in the chest. He chuckled at me like he always did when he knew I wasn't actually angry. He had seen my anger before, he claimed I could make grown men cry.

"Sure you're not. Our usual?" Lestrade asked me as I sighed as I gave in.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll ride with Sherlock," I told him as I waved him off. There was no way I was showing up in a police car. Anderson would have a field day with that one.

"Thank you," Lestrade told me with a grin before looking at John and Mrs. Hudson for a moment and nodding briefly. He turned around and hurried off back down the stairs. As soon as the door slammed shut down stairs Sherlock leaped into the air and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He exclaimed as he picked up his scarf and coat and pulled them on as he headed into the kitchen. I raised my eyebrow at him. Well, this would prove to be rather interesting. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food," Sherlock called from the kitchen as I sighed heavily. I shook my head before turning around and trudging down the stairs to wait for Sherlock by the front door. What had I let Lestrade get me into?

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper," I heard Mrs. Hudson reminding Sherlock as I left the flat. You tell him, Mrs. H.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" I heard Sherlock call from the flat before he appeared at the top of the stairs and bolted down them. His excited expression faded when he saw me at the bottom of the stairs. I made my face an expressionless mask as I stared back at Sherlock. "You used to work with Lestrade?" Sherlock asked me the question I knew he wanted more of an explanation for.

"Yes, it was around seven years ago. There had been a case in the news, a serial killer case. The police were farther out of their depth than ever. I showed up in Lestrade's office. Gave him quiet a scare too. I worked with him on that case and he ended up calling me back to consult on a few more for him. After a while I was getting calls all the time. I left working on cases about four years ago," I explained to Sherlock knowing that he would figure everything out sooner or later.

"That would be around the time you were struggling with your addiction?" Sherlock asked me looking emotionless.

"Yes. I'm assuming your absence that Lestrade spoke about was when you were struggling with you own?" I answered him as ran a hand through my hair letting my curls flow through my fingertips. Sherlock nodded in response after a second.

"I don't need your help," He finally said and I snorted. No beating around the bush for this bloke. His bluntness didn't faze me in the least bit.

"Well I don't need you either sunshine, but Lestrade asked me to take a look so you'll just have to deal with it Lock," I told him with a sweet smile as I brushed my hair behind my ears. He was probably used to people backing off, well, he would have to get used to me encroaching upon his territory. If Lestrade wanted me there than I would help whether Sherlock liked it or not. Sherlock and I stared back at each other in stony silence, challenging one another. I could do this all day.

Damn my leg!" We heard John shout suddenly from the living room and we both turned to look back of the stairs. I heard John start apologizing to Mrs. Hudson for his outburst. Sherlock turned back to look at me with this expression in his eyes that looked like he was planning something. Nothing good ever came out of a look like that.

"What do you think of John?" Sherlock asked me suddenly and I looked at him with a calculating eye. I clicked my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I cocked my head to the right in thought.

"Army doctor, loyal. He misses the danger. I noticed it yesterday. There's a tremor in his left hand, but not all of the time. There's also the fact that his limp is psychosomatic. Why?" I asked Sherlock though I was quiet certain I already knew where he was going with his line of questioning.

"I need an assistant. Besides he needs to get out. It will cure that bloody limp of his," Sherlock pointed out and I nodded in agreement. Watson did need to get out and get back into the work, it would be good for him. I frowned thoughtfully, was I describing John or myself?

"I think he'll be perfect," I told Sherlock as we both smiled mischievously at each other as Sherlock offered me his hand. I eyed it quizzically. We had just gone from challenging one another to this.

"We'll cure him of that infernal limp together. Deal?" He asked me while raising one of his own eyebrows in challenge.

"Deal," I told him meeting his challenge as we shook hands. We turned around and trotted back up the stairs together side by side. It seemed as if Sherlock and I had come to an agreement of mutual respect for one another. I still couldn't deduce him completely, but it would appear that Sherlock had accepted the fact that he was going to have to work with me on this case. I still wasn't going to make things easy for him.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor," Sherlock said as soon as we entered the living room again. I crossed my arms and popped my hip to the right as I stood next to Sherlock. It really irritated me that he was still four inches taller than I was and I only reached his shoulder. It made me look a lot less daunting than he was.

"Yes," John said upon taking notice of us. He got to his feet and turned towards the two of us as we walked over to John and stood in front of him.

"Any good?" I asked John with a raised eyebrow. I caught Sherlock smirking out of the corner of my eye as he caught on to what I was doing. I was trying to goad him into taking the bait.

"Very good," John told me as he met my challenge.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths?" Sherlock asked him carrying on our duel interrogation.

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet," I said as Sherlock caught my eye and we shared a look for a brief moment. We had him already.

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John said quietly as if he was trying to convince himself. He couldn't resist it though. He missed the danger of the chase far too much to back down.

"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock asked him as I tried to hide my smile. We were good, actually we made a pretty good team. My evening just got really interesting all of a sudden.

"Oh God, yes," John told us fervently without a second's thought. Sherlock and I turned on our heels and headed back down the stairs as John followed after us. Sherlock and I allowed ourselves to glace at each other briefly to smile at our triumph.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out," John called out as he hurried down the stairs after us. I rolled my eyes at the sound of his cane hitting the steps. We were going to have to cure that really quickly because the tapping was just a tad bit annoying.

"The three of you?" Mrs. Hudson asked in confusion as she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock and I had almost reached the door, but he quickly turned and walked back towards her. I waited for him with my hand on the door knob as I watched his excitement return. He had mood swings that were almost as bad as mine…almost.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock told her as he took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent," Mrs. Hudson said unable to hide her smile as she looked over at me and saw my expression was much like Sherlock's. Sherlock turned away from her walked back over to me as I threw open the door and walked out to curbing

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Sherlock called in the door way before he walked out and stopped by my side. He attempted to hail an approaching black cab. "Taxi!" He cried holding his arm out, but the cabbie only drove on as John came out to join us by the curb.

"Oh for god's sakes," I said before stepping out further and whistling shrilly to catch the attention of another approaching cab. The taxi pulled up alongside and I looked back at Sherlock and John. John looked amused, but Sherlock looked irritated. "Being a woman has its advantages," I remarked to John as Sherlock got into the back seat of the cab as soon as it slowed down enough.

I slid in after him with a smirk on my face before John got in next to me and shut the door. It was a bit of a tight fit, but we would manage. Sherlock shouted the address at the cabbie who pulled out back onto the road and started to head for Brixton. We said it companionable silence for a long time while Sherlock pulled out his smartphone and fixed his eyes on it. I pulled out my own phone and texted a quick message to Lestrade that we were on our way over. John kept shooting us nervous glances and finally Sherlock lowered his mobile beside me and looked past me at John.

"Okay, you've got questions," He said as I continued to work on my mobile by bringing up articles from the paper about the last three suicides to try and gather as much information as I could about the case before we arrived. I had been loosely following the case, but I hadn't been paying as much attention as I normally would have if I had been planning to work on it myself.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked us and I sighed as I worked on my phone.

"Crime scene, obviously. Next?" I asked John without looking up from my phone. I glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of my eye and caught him smirking at me.

My phone trilled my text alert and I swiped my phone to check my messages. "_**Where are you going?" **_The text read. I groaned inwardly, I didn't want to be doing this right now.

"_**Crime scene. I'm doing Lestrade a favor. -L" **_I texted back simply. That explanation probably wasn't going to fly though. The trill of my text alert a second later confirmed my theory. I ignored the text message. I would probably regret doing so later, but I couldn't handle him on top of Sherlock right now.

"Who are you two? What do you two do?" John asked us before looking at me and continuing. "You said you were a writer, but you used to work for the police."

"Well, not a writer. Not exactly anyway," I remarked as I lowered my phone from a brief second. It trilled in my hand again and I looked down at it with a glare. I deleted the text messages I had received. I would deal with the consequences later.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked John as my phone trilled again. Well someone was being a persistent little bugger.

"I'd say private detectives...," John said slowly hesitating in his response. This is exactly what I was worried about, I was getting roped back into what I had done before. I groaned inwardly. I knew this was going to happen. This was why I always refused to go and just take a look at a crime scene for Greg, but no, I had to be an idiot and agree to come because I wanted to prove to Sherlock that he wasn't the only one who could make deductions.

"But?" I asked John as my phone trilled again. I angrily unlocked it and hit the buttons deleting the text message.

"... but the police don't go to private detectives," John finished as he looked at me and then at my phone which started ringing at that precise moment. I ignored the call quickly.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock answered John as I grumbled under my breath. The next case Sherlock was going to be solving was a murder in which I was the killer. I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my hair before looking up at John.

"I did work like Sherlock before, only I never really gave myself a title," I explained to John before turning back to like at Sherlock. "I like that, consulting detective. It has a nice ring to it."

'What does that mean?" John asked us sounding even more confused than before if that was possible.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock told him before adding almost reluctantly. "Or Lexi."

"Not any more. I'm only doing Lestrade a favor," I reminded Sherlock as my phone trilled again I brought it up to my face and stared at it murderously. This was beyond childish now. Did he not get the message that I wasn't in the mood to talk with him right now?

"The police don't consult amateurs," John said as both men watched me in curiosity over my little display of aggression. I looked up from my phone and raised an eyebrow at John as Sherlock threw him a look that mirrored my own.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised," Sherlock remarked as I thought about the ways I could kill someone and get away with it.

"Yes, Lexi asked me that question first and then you. How did you two know? You said you could deduce people? Is that just a game with Mike?" John asked us directing his last question at me. I noticed Sherlock throw a look my way. It was a mixture of surprise and quite possibly of loathing at having been shown up.

"No, it's not a game. Ever since I was a child I took to observing people. Through simple observations you can deduce almost anything about a person. People give away more than they think, especially when they think someone isn't watching them," I explained to John in the best way possible. I had been a lonely child and spent a lot of my time just watching people. No one suspected a child and most times I had witnessed people doing something that they wouldn't if another adult was watching. Of course no one had any idea that I was deducing them. Maybe that was how Sherlock had felt growing up? Not many people wanted to be friends with me after I deduced them, but as a child I hadn't known that it wasn't normal what I could do.

"And you? How did you know?" John asked Sherlock after a moment's contemplation over my explanation. Sherlock was staring at me questioningly. I could see the silent questions he longed to be answered as he studied my face for any traces of emotion that would give away my feelings on the subject. I put on my poker face and remained and emotionless mask. If he had a question for me he could ask it instead of deducing the answer.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor, obvious," Sherlock told him before I decided to cut in and share my own deductions I had made about John. People were easy enough to read once you knew what to look for. In the case of Sherlock, I could deduce the most basic things off of him. He wasn't a people person, mostly because he thought others were of a lower intelligence to himself. While I shared his aversion to having long conversations with people who made stupid comments, I could stand the company of others for at least a short period of time. Sherlock was a recovering addict like I was. He didn't get along well with his family. He had an older sibling, one he regarded with loathing, though I had the sneaking suspicious that he harbored a secret fondness of sorts for them. Other than that I couldn't deduce anything more about him. He would be my own personal challenge. I would figure out exactly who Sherlock Holmes was.

"Your face is tanned but you don't have a tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not for sunbathing," I remarked before Sherlock continued on with his explanation after throwing me an irritated look at my having interrupted his deductions.

"Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan…Afghanistan or Iraq," Sherlock finished loudly clicking the 'k' sound at the end of the final word. I nodded at him in silent agreement and smiled when he continued to look at me with an irritated expression on his face. He would learn to love me really quickly, especially if we became flat mates.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp John, of course you've got a therapist," I told him as I patted his shoulder comfortingly. I really liked John which was rather odd for me. I didn't normally develop close attachments towards people so quickly. John was different though and he seemed not to mind my behavior…yet.

"Then there's your brother," Sherlock interjected breaking me out of my thoughts about the man we were deducing.

"Hmm?" John asked him sounding confused as he looked away from me and at Sherlock. He had been studying me closely since my slight attempt at comforting him. It wasn't something I was used to doing, but it seemed to work since John seemed more at ease. Maybe I wasn't so bad at it like I thought I was.

Sherlock held his hand out to John across my chest. "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then," He said as John gave him the phone. He turned it over in his hands and looked it over as he talked. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to Lexi wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving," John said slowly as I held my hand out to Sherlock and made as gesture for him to give me the phone. He sighed heavily before dropping it into my waiting hand. I turned over the phone, studying it and making my own deductions about it. I turned it over and read the engraving on the back.

* * *

**Harry Watson**

**From Clara**

**xxx**

* * *

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do… sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you. That says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help, that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking," Sherlock continued with his deductions. Very impressive. Of course he was a lot more long winded than I was.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked him completely baffled. I answered him before Sherlock could.

"It was a shot in the dark. A very good one though," I complimented Sherlock who smiled smugly at me as I showed John the phone. "The power connection. You see, there's tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You'd never see those marks on a sober man's phone and you'd never see a drunk's without them," I explained to John as I handed him back his phone.

"Now yours," Sherlock started as his gaze turned to me. "You've received five texts and a phone call from someone in just a few minutes, but you've ignored all of them. So, someone you aren't fond of talking to at the present time," Sherlock continued as I handed him over my phone. He flipped it over in his hands studying it carefully. "This was a gift, someone wanted you to stay in touch, presumably the person who is persistently trying to reach you. Not a romantic attachment, you'd answer them right away, but you've taken to ignoring this person. I'd say an older sibling," Sherlock finished as he handed me back over my phone. I smiled back at him, he had gotten a lot less off of my phone than he had from John's. So I wasn't the only one having issues making deductions.

"There you go you see…you were right," Sherlock told John smiling with satisfaction. I slipped my phone into my inner coat pocket and looked a John. I had to admit it was nice to share my deductions with someone again. Of course, there was always the issue of how they would be received.

"I was right? Right about what?" John asked us sounding stunned that Sherlock had told him he was right about something.

"The police don't consult amateurs," I told John with a smile on my face. Sherlock looked out of the side window and I caught him biting his lip nervously as he waited for John's reaction. He was obviously used to the same reactions I was. Over time I had learnt not to share my deductions with anyone a fact that it seemed Sherlock had learnt too. John however had been all but asking to be deduced.

"That ... was amazing," John said suddenly. Sherlock looked round at John with and expression of surprise upon his face. I mirrored Sherlock's expression. Did he seriously just tell us we were amazing? Well, that was a first.

"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked him after he gained his composure back.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary," John remarked truthfully and I grinned widely at him.

"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock remarked as we shared a knowing look.

"What do people normally say?" John asked us as he watched the look of understanding pass between us.

"'Piss off'!" We told him in unison before Sherlock and I shared a laugh. John took in the both of us with a look of, 'What have I gotten myself into?' before turning away from us to gaze out the window with a grin on his face.


	4. A Study In Pink

(**A/N) In which Lexi and Sherlock impress John with their deductions and the real chaos begins. I normally will be posting this on Sundays as I am writing a Doctor Who Fic that I post on Saturdays, but I got this chapter finished early so I decided to post it rather than waiting. Hope you like it, lots of Lexi attitude and an appearance by one of my favourite characters in Sherlock towards the end. Yea! So cheers to you all from your high functioning sociopathic author Kattie Holmes. Oh and I want to add here that if you would like to see a picture of Lexi, I put the picture up of her on my Flicker page which you will find a link to on my author page.**

**Song that inspired the chapter which I do suggest you listen to: Watching the Detectives by Elvis Castello.**

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Chapter Three- A Study In Pink

**"It was easier to know it than to explain why I know it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. ~ Sherlock Holmes" ― Arthur Conan Doyle, _A Study in Scarlet_**

The cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens and the three of us got out of the cab. Sherlock paid the cabbie before we walked towards the police tape that was strung across the road. The crime scene was in a rather out of the way part of London and in an abandoned building no less. Same MO as the rest of the suicides which was either a good thing or a bad thing. I suspected that these were not suicides, but actually murder. Therefore, it made it easier for us that the killer hadn't deviated from his usual tactics, though more difficult for the police because it meant he wasn't sloppy.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked us suddenly as we walked. I angrily shoved my mobile into the inner pocket of my coat. I would be shoving it somewhere else later on, a place were the sun didn't shine. I flicked my attention over to Sherlock and John instead. I had bigger fish to fry right now.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker," John told the two of us. I kept up with his pace instead of leaving him behind.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything," Sherlock said smiling proudly to himself. I snorted to myself as I watched him peacocking. If his head was any bigger it wouldn't fit through the doorways.

"And Harry's short for Harriet," John finished. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks as John's words registered with him.

"Harry's your sister," He deadpanned. Ah there was the deflation of his ego I was looking for. "What about you, did I miss anything?" Sherlock demanded of me and I giggled at his expression.

"I'm an only child, so not an older sibling no. He is older than me though so you got that right," I told Sherlock deciding not to be completely mean and at least give him a little credit. He had gotten it half right. Even when deducing someone you could never be completely right all the time. Sherlock looked even more irate over the fact that he had made a wrong deduction about me.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked me was we continued onwards leaving Sherlock behind to have his little tantrum. He get over the little blow to his ego and pride soon enough.

"Sister!" Sherlock said furiously through gritted teeth. "Only child!" He continued on bitterly. I rolled my eyes at his childish tantrum over being told that he was wrong. Someone was a major drama queen.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked us again and I shrugged my shoulders at him feigning innocence. I had never actually been innocent a day in my life though. That was one of the reasons why Lestrade always shuddered when I smiled mischievously. He always knew I was up to something when I gave him that look.

"There's always something," Sherlock said exasperatedly as he started walking again. It only took a few strides for him to catch up with us. We approached the police tape where we were met with another face that was familiar to me.

"Hello, freak," Donovan greeted Sherlock before she took notice of me. She looked shocked at livid to say the least. "Oh look its freakette too. I thought we were rid of you," She sneered. Ah Donovan, oh the fond memories. Of course that thought was dripping with sarcasm.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock told her sounding rather bored. I was more than used to this treatment and it appeared that Sherlock was as well. It was nice to know that some people never changed no matter how much time went by without you seeing them.

"Why?" Donovan asked us sounding annoyed. She was rather lucky that I was making an effort to control my slightly bad temper. The last time I had seen this woman had not ended pleasantly for me. It was a testament of my strength that I was not currently calling her some choice words in multiple languages.

"We were invited," I told her as I crossed my arms in front of my chest and popped my hip to the right. Attitude had always been my defense mechanism.

"Why?"

"I think he wants us to take a look," Sherlock answered her sarcastically. I smirked up at him and watched as his eyes flicked towards me, showing his amusement.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" Donovan remarked as Sherlock lifted the police tape up and allowed me to duck under it before he followed after me.

"Sally if I had known you had missed me so much I would have come back just to see you! I honestly miss all the good times we spent together. All our sparkling conversations," I said as I pulled the woman into a hug and kissed him dramatically on the cheek. The woman tried to shake me off of her, but I clung to her with surprising strength for my skinny frame despite her best efforts. "Oh this brings back so many fond memories," I told the struggling woman as I let her go and made the show of wiping away fake tears. I wrinkled my nose when I caught a whiff of the woman I had just hugged. "Oh, well, someone didn't make it home last night," I remarked and she glared at me looking positively livid. Sherlock was smirking beside me as I stepped back to stand next to him. Oh yeah, I was good.

"I don't ...," She said to me angrily before she seemed to take notice of John for the first time. "Er, who's this?" She asked us as she pointed at John. Ah Watson! Couldn't forget Watson. He had already proven himself to be a valuable asset. If anything he was at least interesting, someone to bounce ideas off of.

"Colleague of ours, Doctor Watson," Sherlock told her as he turned to John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan, old friend," He introduced him his voice dripping with sarcasm. He was still smirking at what I had done to Sally. I mentally patted myself on the back for that one. I normally wasn't a huge fan of human contact, but it had its advantages like making other people uncomfortable.

"A colleague? How do you two get a colleague?! How do you two even know each other?" Donovan asked us as she turned to John. "What, did they follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ...," John started, but before he could continue Sherlock cut him off as I shook my head.

"No," Sherlock told him as he lifted the police tape up for him, ignoring Donovan's question about how we knew each other. John ducked under it joining us on the other side and I patted his arm and flashed him a brilliant smile which he returned hesitantly as if he didn't know if he should encourage me or not. I shrugged and turned back to Sherlock. Donovan lifted her radio to her mouth as soon as John had joined us.

"The freaks are here. Bringing them in," She spoke into her radio as she led us towards the house. Sherlock and I looked around the area and at the ground with a critical eye was we approached the house. Unfortunately, due to the Yarders' incompetence, most of the evidence outside had already been tampered with. I couldn't discern which tire patterns belonged to the Yarders or the possible killers. Sherlock seemed to be having the same problem as me if his expression was any indication. As we reached the pavement a man dressed in a blue coverall came walking out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock said as Anderson looked at him with distaste. Anderson, I actually loathed him more than I did Donovan if that was even possible. Anderson had always harbored a dislike for me and the feeling was more than mutual.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson snapped at him and I rolled my eyes at the man. He was the most irritating man on the entire planet.

Sherlock took a deep breath beside me and I mimicked his actions. I wrinkled my nose for the second time in a few minutes. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked him with a smug smile on his face.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that," Anderson scoffed with a snort. I shook my head at that, when was Anderson going to learn that everything we said was right? We, or at least I, didn't say anything unless I was dead sure I was right.

"Actually Anderson, your deodorant told us that," I told the man while rolling my eyes as I stepped around Sherlock. Sherlock was smirking, looking rather amused with how things were going with Anderson. The man looked shocked as soon as he saw me before his shock was replaced with irritation.

"What the hell are you doing here? Never mind, my deodorant?" Anderson asked me looking like he was going to burst a blood vessel in his forehead. Hmm, good thing we had a doctor with us.

"It's for men," I confided to him in a fake whisper as if it was a secret with a little quirky expression on my face. I heard John cover up a laugh with a cough behind us, still none to convincingly. I would have to work on that, Watson was going to blow my cover one of these days if he kept that up.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" Anderson argued back glaring at me murderously. Oh yeah, I was so terrified. I was quivering in fear. I rolled my eyes at him, smirking like a villain in a bad Western movie. All I needed was a handlebar mustache.

"So's Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock remarked as Anderson looked round at Donovan in trepidation. Sherlock sniffed pointedly as I smirked smugly beside him. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?" Sherlock asked him as John shifted a little uncomfortably behind us. Oh, we were just getting started. For an Army doctor he certainly was antsy.

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply ...," Anderson said as he turned back and pointed at us angrily.

"We're not implying anything," I told him pointedly as I flipped my hair over my shoulders and strode past Donovan towards the front door. Sherlock followed me and we both stopped by the door to make a few final parting remarks.

"I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over," Sherlock told Anderson as we turned back to look at the man. John stood looking between the four of us completely baffled by what was going on. He would learn soon enough if he was going to be working with Sherlock and me.

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees," I finished off in smug satisfaction as I watched Anderson and Donovan share a look before they stared back at us in horror.

Sherlock smiled smugly before the both of us turned and entered the house together without another word. John followed us into the house after a second and Sherlock and I lead the way to a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was pulling on a coverall similar to the one Anderson had been wearing. Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items as I pulled a hair tie out of my jacket pocket. I twisted my hair up into a messy bun to keep it up and out of the way while I worked. I was, if anything, professional when I was consulting. The time for messing around was over now. Use your eyes, observe everything. Even the smallest details could be critical in a case like this. A button I found at a crime scene once had been the identifying evidence in a murder case I worked on.

"You need to wear one of these," Sherlock told John as I slipped a few bobby pins into my hair to keep up a few stray pieces. Sherlock was watching my struggle with my hair and I snorted in his general direction.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked me as he pointed over at John. I rolled my eyes at Lestrade, was that the question of the day?

"He's with me," Sherlock answered him as he started to pull off his black leather gloves.

"But who is he?" Lestrade prompted again as I leaned over him and picked up a pair of latex gloves.

"He's with us Greg. Don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on him," I told the man, patting him on the shoulder in a manner resembling comforting. In the meantime John took his jacket off and picked up one of the coveralls. He looked at Sherlock who was picking up a pair of gloves like I had before looking back at me as I was pulling my own gloves on.

"Aren't you two gonna put one on?" He asked us in reference to the coveralls. Sherlock looked at him sternly and John shook his head as if to say, 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!' I giggled at his expression which earned me an eye roll from Sherlock.

"John, that look just doesn't work on me. Now on you it looks smashing," I told him as I pulled on my gloves. I pulled them out letting them loudly snap back into place. I smiled at the irritated look this earned me from Sherlock and the exasperated expression I received from Lestrade. Oh come on, someone had to lighten up the mood. This crime scene was far too depressing.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked Lestrade as he ignored my antics. I stuck my tongue out at him before I linked my glove clad hands behind my back.

"Upstairs," Lestrade told us he picked up his own pair of gloves. He led us up a circular staircase as Sherlock put on his latex gloves. "I can give you two minutes," He told us as he looked at me pointedly. I snorted at him. It was like he was expecting me to cause trouble. I was slight offended, I was a saint.

"May need longer," Sherlock told him casually. Yeah, like he would need that long. If he was anything like me it wouldn't take long at all to figure out what had happened. See, observing and making deductions didn't take long if you knew what you should be looking for. The reason the police missed everything was because they saw, but didn't observe. They also had no clue at all what to be looking for. That was to be expected though, they're minds were so vacant half the time.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her," Lestrade told us as he led us into a room that was two stories above the ground floor.

The room was empty of furniture except for a rocking horse which was in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting had been set up around the room. I noted that there were some scaffolding poles holding up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes had been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body was lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands were lying flat on the floor on either side of her head. Sherlock and I walked a few steps into the room before we both stopped and focused our attention on the corpse in front of us.

The four of us stood there silently for several long seconds before Sherlock suddenly looked across the room to Lestrade. "Shut up," He told him rudely. I raised an eyebrow at him, but made no conjecture other than that at his behavior.

"I didn't say anything," Lestrade told him sounding startled. I snorted at Sherlock's attitude, but didn't remark upon it as I brushed past him and went to crouch in front of the body. It was time for me to get to work. I pulled out a pair of glasses from the inside of my coat and put them on, pushing them up the bridge of my nose. They were tortoise shell around the glass, but the sides of the frame were rose pink. Once my brainy specs, which I really just needed for up close studies, were on I got to deducing.

"You were thinking. It's annoying," Sherlock told him before he stepped forward and stood behind me as he looked down at the corpse. I made my observations ignoring Sherlock completely. I wasn't sure if he wanted to work together or just make our own deductions about the victim. Option one didn't look like it was going to happen due to the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to play well with others.

The first thing I noticed when I started looking at the body was that the word "Rache" had been scratched into the floorboards by the woman's left hand. My eyes trailed over to the woman's hands inspecting them more closely. Her fingernail on her index and middle finger were broken and ragged at the ends and her nail polish chipped. The rest of her fingernails were still in immaculate condition though. Her index finger was resting at the bottom of the 'e' so I assumed that she had still been trying to carve into the floor when she died. She had used her left hand to scratch the word into the floor boards. I could make an easy deduction from that, she was left handed.

Now the word she had carved was Rache. Rache in German meant revenge. No, that wasn't it. The woman didn't have the physical characteristics associated with those who were German. So, what other words could it have been? A name was the most likely decision. In my mind I ran through a list of letters in quick succession as I tried to find the next one in the sequence. L! Rachel that fit perfectly. It was at this time that Sherlock crouched down beside me breaking my train of thought. He ran his gloved hand over along the back of the victim's coat, then lifted his hand again to look at his fingers. He showed them to me and I noticed the shine of water on his gloves. The back of her coat was wet, she had been out in the rain recently.

I reached forward and dug around in the woman's coat pockets before I found what I was looking for. Any smart woman would carry one thing on her if she knew it was going to rain. I pulled a white folding umbrella out of the woman's pocket and ran my fingers along the folds of the material. I held up my hand and inspected my glove before showing it to Sherlock. Her umbrella was dry. So the wind had been too strong to use her umbrella. I put it back into her pocket as Sherlock moved up to the collar of the woman's coat and ran his fingers underneath it. He held his fingers up for inspection between the two of us. Wet, so she had turned her collar up against the rain.

I was surprised that Sherlock was actually working with me. I had thought I was going to have to fight him tooth and nail before he reigned in his ego at being the world's only consulting detective enough to let me make my own deductions. In our current positions we were shoulder to shoulder. I didn't actually mind it. I felt a sort of kindred ship for the man. He knew the struggles of addiction like I did. He also knew what it was like to be called names like freak because people couldn't accept the deductions you made. While Sherlock didn't seem to openly care about Anderson and Donovan's treatment of him, I could see that it actually did affect him. While everyone made it sound like he was inhuman, he was as human as it got. I had learnt to deal with Anderson and Donovan over time. Lestrade knew of my deep dislike of the pair. He generally kept them as far away from me as possible, especially after some of the last few cases I had worked on with Scotland Yard.

I was pulled out of my own inner musings once again by Sherlock. He held his hand out just under my nose holding a small magnifier. I took that to mean he was offering it to me and I took it from him and clicked it open before using it to closely examine the woman's delicate looking gold bracelet on her left wrist. It had been cleaned and recently. The gold earring on her left ear and the gold chain around her neck had likewise been treated with the same care. The rings on her left ring finger told an entirely different sort of story. Her wedding wing and her engagement ring were both dirty.

She was married and judging from the state of her rings unhappily so. Her rings were at least ten or so years old so unhappily married for a rather long time. I wordlessly handed Sherlock back his magnifier before reaching forward and carefully working the woman's wedding ring off of her finger. I held the ring up into the light and inspected the inside of the band. It was clean. I showed the ring to Sherlock who silently nodded at me as the only indication that he was on the same page as I was. I slid the ring back onto the woman's finger as I reached a final conclusion about the ring. It was regularly removed. Now a woman in a rather unhappy marriage who regularly removed her ring indicated that she was probably an adulterer. One man wouldn't do though, not for this woman. No, she was a serial adulterer. She had a small case with her too, she was only staying overnight before she would be returning home. She was careful, probably told her husband she was going somewhere for work. I placed her as being a journalist given the state of her nails and the alarming shade of pink she seemed partial to. I smiled slightly in satisfaction before looking back at Sherlock. His expression was similar to mine. We shared a look of amusement for a brief second before masking our emotions with a look that only portrayed boredom.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked us having noticed our pause in examining the corpse of the latest victim.

"Not much," Sherlock said nonchalantly as we stood and we both took our gloves off in perfect synchronization. "Practically nothing," I added as Sherlock took out his mobile phone from his pocket and started typing.

I looked up when I heard a noise in the door way. It turned out to be Anderson who was leaning casually against the doorframe. "She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something …," Anderson began as I strode over to the door quickly and began to close it in his face. I had had enough of the man already for one day thank you very much.

"Yes, thank you for your input Anderson. You're intelligence always amazes me," I told the man sarcastically with a cheerful smile on my face before I slammed the door shut in his face. I nodded at the door as if to say 'And stay out!' before I walked back over to Sherlock's side. John and Lestrade were both looking at me with identical expressions of shock at my rude behavior on their faces. Sherlock on the other hand was failing miserably at trying to hide his smirk. I made a mental note of how he had tracked my movements back over to him with a watchful eye. I watched over his shoulder as he called up a menu for "UK Weather" on his mobile and began to scroll the five options that the menu offered him. He selected the map option and started to put in parameters for a search of the recent weather.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked us slowly, hesitating in his answer. I skipped over to his side and bumped my arm with his grinning.

"Nope," I told him popping the 'p' sound at the end of the word. "She's not German. She is from out of town though. She was only intending to stay in London for one night…," I told Lestrade before looking back at Sherlock who was smiling smugly as he apparently found the information he had been looking for.

"…before returning home to Cardiff," Sherlock finished for me as he pocketed his phone. "So far, so obvious," Sherlock remarked to me and I nodded at him. A small smirk graced both of our lips as I walked back towards the body and walked a full circle around it. I scanned our victim one last time to see if I might have missed anything. I didn't want Sherlock to show me up, especially in front of Lestrade. I had a reputation to up hold.

"Sorry…obvious?" John asked us sounding completely baffled. I giggled, a sound that made Lestrade visibly shutter. I snorted at him, I wasn't that bad. He did have ample reason to worry though, he knew my tack record from our previous escapades.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked me clearly trying to distract me. As if he ever could, I wasn't easily distracted especially when I was working on a case. This one was proving to be especially interesting.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked John, completely ignoring Lestrade. I clasped my hands behind my back and walked slowly over to Sherlock's side. I smiled back at John as I slowly rocked on the balls of my feet. This was the most fun I had had in weeks. It did help that I was working with the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. One second he seemed like he was annoyed with my very presence and the next he was the one who initiated working with me. I wasn't complaining though. His willingness to actually work with me meant that I didn't have to fight him on the subject. I was slightly suspicious as to his motives though.

"Of the message?" John asked us quizzically and I giggled again amused. I caught Sherlock studying me, but ignored him. I would let him make his own opinion of me. Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other after all.

"No, John, of the body. What do you think about it? You're a medical man," I answered him my head cocked to the right as I studied him for any sort of reaction. Would he take the bait or would he resist. This was after all the reason we had brought him with us.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade protested and I cornered him with a stare of contained amusement that he often told me was my, 'Stop being an idiot,' look.

"They won't work with me and I rather doubt they will work with Sherlock either. Anderson's love for me only goes so far. I don't think he ever forgave me after that last case I worked on for you and I have yet to forgive him," I pointed out to Lestrade with a dramatic sigh as if I needed Anderson's approval. I despised the man with a passion and the feeling was mutual.

"Yeah, well you gave him a bloody good reason not to like you Lexi. He almost pressed charges," Lestrade fired back and I snorted in amusement. I had gotten out of that one with only a minor scolding, mostly because I was really in no condition to be worked up. The look on Anderson's face when I punched him had actually been worth the reprimand and refractoring my knuckles.

"I only broke his nose, Greg. Don't over exaggerate. Besides need I remind you that he deserved far worse than a broken nose for what he did," I told the man with just a tad bit of venom in my voice. I would never forgive Anderson for what he had done. John and Sherlock had been watching or banter, but at my words they both looked…well shocked by my admission. Sherlock looked amused by the fact I had punched Anderson, but I saw that look in his eyes that said he was trying to deduce the reason behind it. John on the other hand looked concerned, reading more into what I was saying.

"Christ Lexi, I'm not going to argue with you. I'm breaking every rule letting you two in here as it is," Lestrade sighed as he ran a hand down his face. I sighed heavily. I felt sort of bad for the man. He always put up with me no matter how hard a time I gave him. It hadn't been easy for him when I stopped taking cases. He knew why I stopped working, but I had kind of left him hanging. Four years seemed like a long time, but I still hadn't fully gotten over the events of my last case.

"Yes ... because you need me," Sherlock told him speaking for the first time in a few minutes. "And I'm doing you a favor because you wanted me here," I added. Lestrade stared at us for a moment before lowering his eyes helplessly.

"Yes, I do. God help me," He muttered in defeat. That was all the permission I needed. Lestrade was desperate for help which was good news for me because that often meant I got free reign. This was going to be quiet fun.

"Doctor Watson," Sherlock asked John gesturing to the body and asking for him to give his medical opinion once more. I looked back at Sherlock and we shared a private look of triumph knowing that John wouldn't be able to resist and Lestrade wasn't going to stop him.

"Hm?" John asked us as he looked up from the body to Sherlock and me and then turning his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission. There was that army side of him coming out again.

"Oh, do as they say. Help yourself," Lestrade told John a little tetchily before he turned and opened the door, stepping outside. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes," He told Anderson who, knowing the man, had probably been fuming in the hall waiting for me to come out of the room so he could retaliate for my having slammed the door in his face. Well, he could shunt off for all I cared, he was lucky that was all I did. I wasn't kidding when I said he deserved far worse than just a broken nose.

Sherlock, John and I walked over to the body and I squatted down next to Sherlock as he lowered himself down on one side of it. John painfully lowered himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself. I felt a pang of sympathy for the man. I hadn't known him for long, but I already felt something a kin to friendship for the man. It was rare that I ever found someone I like right away. It normally took me a while before I made the decision that I could stand someone's company. I would have to do an experiment to see if this was just an isolated case or not. As for Sherlock, I wasn't sure if I liked him yet or if he just intrigued me. I needed to collect more data before I could make my final decision about him.

"Well?" Sherlock asked John sounding mildly impatient. I nudged him in the side and when he looked at me in annoyance I raised an eyebrow at him. He furrowed his eyebrows before setting his jaw and looking away from me. If we did end up becoming flat mates it would be interesting to see who would kill who first. It seemed like we both had the same need to be right and in control of the situation.

"What am I doing here?" John asked the both of us softly. While he posed the question to the two of us he focused more heavily on me. I did seem like the likelier person to give him an actually answer.

"You're helping us make a point," I told John with a smirk knowing that that point was that his limp was actually psychosomatic. I caught Sherlock's own smirk out of the corner of my eye before he could hide it from me.

"I'm supposed to be helping you two pay the rent," John shot back and I shrugged in boredom.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun," Sherlock told him sharing my thoughts exactly. There were certain things in life that I found very trivial. Makin tea, paying rent, going shopping, those were things that fell on that list. There was just so many more interesting things to do and much better ways to spend your time.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead," John said through gritted teeth. He was clearly upset with us now. I frowned in confusion, we hadn't said anything that should have upset him.

"That's a perfectly sound analysis John, brilliant in fact. The woman obviously is dead. Ten out of ten for observation. We were hoping you'd go a little deeper though," I told John as Lestrade walked back into the room and stood just inside the doorway. John shot me a look of disapproval but he dragged his other leg down into a kneeling position before leaning forward to inspect the woman's body more closely. He put his head close to hers and sniffed before straightening a little and lifting her right hand looking at the skin. While he was doing this I got up from my squatted position next to Sherlock and made my way over to Lestrade. I leaned up against the door way next to him knowing he wanted to talk with me.

"Just spit it out Greg," I told the man cutting to the chase as I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked at him. I knew what he was dying to ask me and I knew he wasn't going to really like any answer I gave him. I thought it best to just get over with it quickly before moving on back to the case at hand. He wasn't the only person I was going to have to deal with.

"How did you meet Holmes?" Lestrade asked me quietly gesturing back to Sherlock. While Sherlock was watching John examine the body, I knew he was probably listening to Greg and me.

"A mutual friend introduced us yesterday," I told Lestrade honestly. He looked at me surprised as he seemed to not know what to say to that.

"You only met yesterday? Why were you at his flat then?" Lestrade asked me using his police voice, the one he typically reserved only for me. Lestrade was rather protective of me, reminding me of someone else I knew. While he seemed to trust Sherlock, he was regarding the man like any other guy that came into my life. Lestrade was like an older brother to me and he often treated me like a younger sister. That meant that he regarded any man that came close to me as an enemy before he got to know them better. It was actually rather amusing, but I also found it rather sweet that he cared that much about me. His protectiveness had increased after I left the Yard.

I hummed out an agreement. "We're contemplating becoming flat mates, John, Sherlock, and I," I told Lestrade with a shrug. He narrowed his eyes at my nonchalance. "Don't," I told him as I watched him bristle at the idea of me living with two men. "You're not the only one that keeps an eye on me. If either of them was going to be a problem they would have already been deported by now."

"Lexi, I've know you for years and I trust your judgment, but are you seriously going to move in with them. I know Sherlock, he isn't an easy man to get along with. And this Doctor Watson, I don't know anything about him but…," Lestrade asked me before I held up a hand to stop him. I held his gaze with a firm expression like I only had to do on a few occasions.

"I'm not so easy to get along with either Greg. I don't know," I said thoughtfully as I cocked my head to the side and tapped my chin quizzically before beaming and looking back at Greg. "I like them and if they ever turn out to be murdering psychopaths, I'll call you. Besides," I added, my voice growing serious. "I think I should get to choose for myself who I decided to be around. I know you want to protect me Greg, but you can't protect me from everything. It's been four years, I need to start to get my life back together at some point," I told Lestrade patting him on the shoulder before skipping back off over to John and Sherlock. Lestrade watched me go shaking his head at me completely baffling mood today.

"Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs," John was saying as I stopped by his side and looked down at the body. One uncomfortable conversation out of the way. I had a feeling that the second was going to be a lot worse. I sighed, I would take care of that later.

"You know what it was. You've read the papers," Sherlock told him as I crossed my arms and put one hand on my chin, popping my hip to the right as I stared down at the body. I couldn't help but feel like we were missing something, something obvious.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth...?" John asked us as he looked up at me and then back at Sherlock. I scanned the room slowly again. What were we missing?

"Sherlock, Lexi…two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got," Lestrade interrupted us and I lowered my arms to my sides again as Sherlock got to his feet. John was having a harder time of getting back up off of the floor so I reached a hand out to him. He looked at it hesitantly for a second. Pride was telling him not to take the offered help, but he relented after a second knowing it was only practical. I pulled him to his feet quickly with a pull. The look on his face after he regained his footing told me that he hadn't expected me to be that strong. I didn't look it, but I was stronger than people assumed. I might not have been taking cases any more, but I had kept up with the level of fitness I had before when I was running all over London.

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase," Sherlock shared his deductions with Lestrade. It seemed like we had come to the same conclusions. I never once doubted my own abilities, but it was nice to know that I had made the same deductions as Sherlock.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked him confused as he and John both looked around the room as if expecting to see the suitcase Sherlock was talking about. That was what I had thought had been missing. Her suitcase wasn't in the room. A woman like her would have kept it close by her, but it wasn't in the room. Maybe Anderson had already taken it as evidence. I sighed, the only way we were going to see the case was if we talked with Anderson. I really didn't want to be in the same room as him longer than necessary. My self-control only extended so far.

"Yes Greg, her suitcase. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married," I explained to Lestrade as I walked around the body and stood by Sherlock's side.

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ...," Lestrade began before he caught my expression. I put my hands on my hips and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. He remained silent and I huffed before continuing with my deductions. I was not going to let Sherlock have all the fun. One look at the man said that he understood to keep his mouth shut and that I was in no mood to be messed with at the current moment.

I pointed down at the woman's left hand, specifically at her wedding band. "Her wedding ring, its ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. That shows the state of her marriage right there. She's gained weight since she first got married though, probably because of her depression. Her rings fit more snugly on her finger as a result. I had to really work them off to examine them. The inside of her wedding ring is shinier than the outside that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It took effort to remove them so she had to have a reason to want to. It's not for work, I mean look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, they're too dainty and way too well kept. So what other reasons would a woman have for wanting to remove her rings? If she was having an affair she certainly would have a reason to, keeping up appearances that she isn't a married woman. Clearly it's not just one lover though. No, she would never be able to sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so the more likely option is a string of them. Simple really," I explained to everyone as nonchalantly as if I was talking about the weather. It was rather simple. I often found things like affairs to be the easiest things to deduce about people. People thought they could hide those sorts of secrets so well, but if you knew what to look for it was so obvious that it made you wonder how people could get away with them for so long.

"That's brilliant," John said breaking the silence. His tone sounded almost…admiring. I looked at him in shock. No one had ever complimented me on my work before. Yes, Mike seemed to get a kick out of it when I deduced someone, but he saw it more like a party trick. "Sorry," John told me apologetically having seemed to misunderstand the look I was giving him. I was still a little too shocked to say anything. It was… nice to be appreciated for once, to not be called a freak.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked Sherlock breaking me out of my shock. He looked rather impressed with me too, but then again he had always been impressed with me before. I could now understand why he had given me such odd looks when I first started consulting for the Yard. It was because Sherlock had worked with him before me. I was slightly jealous that he had gotten to work with Greg before I had, but I couldn't do anything to change that. I hadn't just worked with Greg though, there were others at the Yard that I would help as I saw fit. I was ever on the lookout for an interesting case to solve.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked them sounding bored. I made a gesture for him to take over the explanations again. I knew he was bursting to share his deductions and he wasn't used to having to share. While I liked showing off as much as he probably did, I didn't feel like pushing his buttons too much…yet. I would have plenty of time to show off later, especially if I became flat mates with him.

"It's not obvious to me," John told us and I shook my head at the man. People saw, but never observed. It was slightly amusing.

Sherlock paused and looked at the other two, knowing better than to even include me in what he was about to say. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring," He told Lestrade and John before turning back to the body.

"I agree with you. Honestly Greg, I would have thought that you would have picked up on at least a few things working with me," I remarked ruefully as I joined Sherlock and watched him. He was bursting to give his deductions. It was rather comical watching him. I rolled my eyes and ushered on the all too willing man.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind…too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He deduced as he got his phone from his pocket and showed Lestrade and John the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today's weather for the southern part of Britain.

"Cardiff," I finished for him with a wide grin having already seen the webpage earlier when he first looked up the weather. Sherlock smirked back at me as we both preened at our own genius. It was nice to work with someone who understood what you were talking about for once.

"That's fantastic!" John remarked in admiration once again. I smiled at the man and bowed dramatically which made Lestrade grin. I grinned back at the Lestrade and winked at him cheekily.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked John lowly as he turned to look at him with a studying eye.

"Sorry. I'll shut up," John said quickly shuffling a little bit. I pouted at John for his own insecurities. Where was the military man now who could give orders?

"No, it's ... fine," Sherlock told him sounding secretly pleased like I was at the praise.

"I need someone like you John, it's nice to have someone tell me how brilliant I am. I never get tired of hearing it," I told John with a laugh which set him a little more at ease.

"Yeah, if he starts doing that your ego is going to get bigger than it already is," Lestrade told me and I pouted at him and stuck out my tongue.

"I'm hurt Greg, really hurt. My ego is the perfect size I'll have you know," I retorted, catching the smile that John was trying to hide. I winked at him which made him hide a laugh with a cough. I narrowed my eyes at that, oh Watson.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked us changing the subject and bringing it back to the case at hand. In other words, he was reeling me back in before I could really get going. He was such a buzz kill sometimes. I sighed inwardly, I was just getting started too.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is," Sherlock said as he spun around the room in a circle looking for the case I had been looking for earlier. Good, he noticed that it was missing too.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked us sounding confused. I sighed heavily, did we have to explain everything? That was obvious.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" I scoffed as I rolled my eyes at Lestrade. " Seriously Greg, of course she was writing Rachel. There are no other words with that letter combination that it can be. The question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" I asked as I turned to look at Sherlock. He raised in eyebrow in thought over the question I had posed. What was the significance behind writing Rachel? It had to mean something important given she was the first of the people who had committed "suicide" to have left a note.

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked us ignoring my attitude for now. He knew that it was only a matter of time before my mood took a turn for the worse. I had been in a relatively good mood all day, but that was starting to slowly slip.

Sherlock pointed down to the body, where the woman's tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg. "Back of the right leg, tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes conscious, could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night," He said as he squatted down by the woman's body and examined the backs of her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" He asked Lestrade demandingly.

"There wasn't a case," Lestrade told us shaking his head. I frowned at that as Sherlock slowly got to his feet and frowned at Lestrade too.

"Say that again," I asked Lestrade wanting to make sure that I had heard him right. There had to be a case. There was evidence that she had a case on her at some point. It had to be somewhere.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase," Lestrade told me. Sherlock and I looked at each other for a second before we both headed for the door side by side. We hurried down the stairs as Sherlock started to call out to all of the police officers in the house.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" He asked demandingly as Lestrade and John followed us out and stopped on the landing above us.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called down to us.

Sherlock and I slowed down, but we still continued to make our way down the stairs. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them," Sherlock called back up to Lestrade sounding very frustrated that no one was seeing the obvious. It was actually very obvious.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And...?" Lestrade asked him. I was starting to get frustrated myself. I tried to have more patience, but how could they have seriously missed something as obvious as this?

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings… serial killings," Sherlock answered him, holding his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to," Sherlock remarked to me as we grinned at each other in shared excitement. There was no way I was walking away from this case now, not when it was getting so interesting.

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked him and I sighed in frustration and threw my hands up in the air. Sherlock and I both stopped in the stairs to look at the others and at Lestrade in exasperation.

"Her case! Come on Greg, think! Use the brain I know you have. Where is her case? Did she eat it? I highly doubt that she did. Someone else was here and they took her case," I called back up to Lestrade before turning to Sherlock having realized something. "So the killer must have driven her here and forgotten the case was in the car," I shared with Sherlock and his eyes widened as he realized what I had.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John offered and I shook my head up at him.

"No, she never got to the hotel," Sherlock told him as he looked back up the stairs. "Look at her hair. She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking...," Sherlock explained before he stopped talking as he made a realization. "Oh," He said, his eyes widening as his face lit up. I looked at him confused for a second before the dawning realization hit me as well. Oh that was brilliant.

"Oh!" I remarked catching on as Sherlock clapped his hands in delight. Sherlock grabbed me by the shoulders and I was completely shocked when he pulled me forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It wasn't a sentimental gesture. I knew he was just getting caught up in the excitement. I huffed at him and rubbed my forehead. That was going to be the last time that ever happened.

"Sherlock? Lexi?" John asked us as Lestrade leaned over the railings to look down at us.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked us quickly as he tried to find out why we both seemed so excited. He looked amused that I was still rubbing my forehead where Sherlock had kissed me and I looked up the stairs at him and narrowed my eyes. His amused look left his face really quickly after that.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake," Sherlock said smiling cheerfully to himself. Glad he was so happy. I grumbled under my breath in my irritation over the man with more mood swings than a PMSing woman.

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade called down the stairs sounding exasperated. Good, he knew the feeling.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock told him as we both started to hurry down the stairs again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock yelled back up to him as we reached the bottom of the stairs and started to head for the door.

"Of course, yeah…but what mistake?!" Lestrade called after us. Sherlock and I stopped walking and looked at each other, rolling our eyes in unison before walking back over to the bottom of the stairs so Lestrade could see us again.

"PINK!" We yelled up to Lestrade in unison before we hurried off again. I hurried outside with the consulting detective. Ugh, Sally was still outside.

"Where are you freaks going?" Sally called to us as we walked back to the crime scene tape. We ignored Donovan, her comment wasn't even worth responding to. I was surprised when Sherlock lifted the crime scene tape for me and waited for me to cross under it before him. I smiled at him ruefully before darting under the tape. He stared back at me with that blank expression. Well, I was going to have to do something about that.

We headed off down the road and I was about to ask Sherlock where he wanted to start looking for the case when my phone buzzed in my pocket. He looked over at me with a raised eyebrow of curiosity as I sighed heavily in frustration and pulled my phone out.

"_**There is a car waiting for you around the corner, get in." **_I groaned, there would be no arguing with him. I didn't feel like explaining why there were men in suits carting me off either. I shoved my phone back in my pocket grumbling to myself. Things were just getting good too.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked me sounding rather amused and I focused on him with a glare that said, 'Don't even go there.'

"Relatively, it appears I am needed elsewhere. Ugh, why do people have to love me so much?" I asked Sherlock grumbling at the fact that I was getting pulled away from the case. "Text me when you find the case," I called to Sherlock over my shoulder as I tore off in down the street heading for the corner. I ran around the left corner not even bothering to wait for Sherlock's response. He would find the case eventually even without my help. I had bigger problems right now. I was attached to another object by an inclined plane, wrapped helically around an axis. In other words, I was screwed.

The sleek, black car was waiting for me around the corner like promised. As soon as I made it into view the driver stepped out of the car and held the back door open for me. "Hi, Allen," I greeted the man with a nervous laugh. He smiled firmly at me in response before I slid into the back seat of the car. I was in a lot of trouble. That was rather obvious given who was waiting for me in the car.

"Mycroft," I greeted the posh man with a sheepish smile. Yeah, act like you have no idea what is going on. Maybe he'll by it. Mycroft Holmes was an old friend of mine. When I say friend, I mean he was more like my brother than anything else. Mycroft had met me when I was going through a rather rough patch in my life. He was there for me when no one else was even if he did have alter motives behind why he was. Over time he started seeing me like a sister. I was rather fond of him no matter how hard I rebelled against him.

"Lexi," Mycroft greeted me sounding calm. I groaned, whenever he was being calm meant he was either disappointed in me or angry. I went with angry this time around. Mycroft constantly checked in on me to see where I was going and what I was doing. I knew he worried about me. That was painfully obvious. He claimed he only checked in on me because I caused trouble that meant paperwork for him, but I knew that the real reason behind it was because of my little accident a while back. Not like he would ever make out that he really did worry about me, Mycroft wasn't one to be overly sentimental. His favorite line was, "Caring is not an advantage."

"Sorry, I know I was ignoring you, but I was on a case! I was working, Croft!" I pouted as I tried to explain to the man that I was justified in not responding to his texts. He just frowned at me in response and I sighed heavily. "I know you worry about me when I don't text you back, but it's not like you don't know where I am at every waking moment," I pointed out and the man sighed heavily. He knew I had them there. While Mycroft claimed that he only held a minor position in the British government, he was in reality the bloody British government. He had his CCTVs watching my movements throughout the city on any given day. I would have thought he was a creepy stalker if I didn't know he only did it because he cared about me.

"That is not the point Lexi," Mycroft chastised me. I knew he was right. Ugh, he could be so annoying at times. "So, enjoying the company of Dr. Watson and my brother?" Mycroft asked me dropping the subject for now and picking up an even worse one.

"Yup," I said popping the 'p' at the end of the word with a grin. "You know when you said you had a brother I never quiet imagined someone like Sherlock. I can totally see it though. Is that why you love me? Cause I know you love me," I told Mycroft dramatically as I got comfy on the expensive leather interior. This was actually better than dumpster diving for evidence. No matter how hard he was trying to not show any emotion, I caught the slight quirk on the side of his lips. I was the only one that could get a smile out of Mycroft Holmes, a triumph that I was completely proud of. I was good and when I say I'm good I mean that I am freaking fabulous. Then again I am always fabulous, not everyone could see that though which is their loss completely.

"Sherlock and I do not have the best of relationships," Mycroft told me with another heavy sigh. "We do not always see eye to eye. He thinks of me as his enemy. He always did upset Mummy." I frowned at his mention of his mother. I actually liked Mummy Holmes. I couldn't understand why Mycroft always complained about her.

"I sort of like him. He's all brooding and "I'm cleverer than everyone else", but he shares my enthusiasm over the cases. If anything at least it is amusing to annoy him," I said while still frowning. I did like Sherlock and not just because it would annoy Mycroft to no end if I decided to move in with him and get back into solving cases. Mycroft would be pleased about me getting back to work. He respected my change in careers even if he never approved of it. I knew he secretly thought I was wasting my time and talents on something beneath me. I missed working on cases, the thrill of solving a puzzle. I had never even finished anything I started writing. I made money by selling a few articles and by doing small jobs for Mycroft, but I needed to stop playing games and get back to work.

"I was afraid that you would say that," Mycroft said actually sounding a bit terrified. "Please refrain from causing too much trouble. It is already hard enough as it is keeping Sherlock and you from burning down London on your own," Mycroft continued sounding rather bored as he tried to mask his true terror.

"If I feel the urge I'll text you. Just FYI, burning down London is not on the top of my to do list right now, so I think you're good for a while. So… I'm guessing we're headed some where you can scare John a little bit before you decide if you think I should hang around him," I remarked causally as the driver started down a road that would lead us to an abandoned warehouse that I knew only too well.

"Yes, I've already had Anthea pick him up in a car," Mycroft informed me as he picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on the arm of his suit. What was it was Holmes' and their suits?

I groaned and held my face in my hands before looking up at Mycroft dejectedly. "You're going to scare him off. I was just starting to like him too," I accused Mycroft who only gave me his typical stare.

"We shall see," He told me as the driver stopped the car at the back of the warehouse. The driver got out and opened the door for Mycroft who slid from the car with a practiced grace that I expected from him now

He carried his bloody umbrella with him. It looked ridiculous when he used it. At least Sherlock wore his scarf and coat, Mycroft just looked like a weirdo carrying around an umbrella. He also looked like a creepy murderous stalker right now, but I wasn't going to mention that to him. I grumbled to myself as I nestled myself down into the leather interior of the car. Between Mycroft's over the top and seriously creepy kidnapping of anyone that so much as talked to me and Sherlock's winning personality I was starting to get a headache. I still had a case to get back to when I had finished here with Mycroft. It was going to be a long night and the game had only just begun.


	5. An Interview With The British Government

(A/N) In which we get to see what John makes of getting thrown into the case and well, he meets Mycroft. Now, I normally won't be posting on Wednesdays so this is a one time thing. All other postings will be on their regularly set time of either Saturday or Sunday. I am only posting today because today in 1927 the last Sherlock Holmes' story, The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place, was published. So today I say, **_I Believe in Sherlock Holmes. _**

If any of you want more updates from Lexi and the Baker Street Boys go to my Author page which has links to Facebook Accounts for the gang. Go on and ask the gang your questions and see what they're up to. Instead of doing one shots for this story, I am posting things pretty much everyday on their walls. So friend them, send them messages, and get responses. You can ask Sherlock anything really or Lexi.

Now for some shameless lyrics that popped into my head while writing the chapter:

Sing us a song your the umbrella man!

Do You Wanna Solve A Murder?

Sherlock:  
John?  
(Knocking: Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock)  
Do you wanna solve a murder?

We'll run around the town,

Come on now the game is on,

Where are you going John?

Why won't you turn around?

You used to be my blogger.  
And now you're not  
I wish you would tell me why!-  
Do you wanna solve a murder?  
It doesn't have to be a murder.

John:  
Go away, Sherlock

Sherlock:  
But I'm bored…

(Knocking)  
Do you wanna solve a murder?  
Come on John, I'm sorry that I lied,  
And that I let you think that I went and died!

(Not dead)

It's getting kind of lonely, just my skull and I  
Watching the bloodstains dry….

(Shoots wall)

Sherlock:  
(Knocking)  
John?  
Please, I know you're in there,  
I swear I won't do it to you again  
They say "He'll never forgive you,"

but I need you to, 'cos you're my only friend.  
I guess that I have lost you,  
you don't need me now  
Oh John, but I still need you,

Do you wanna solve a murder?

John:

I forgive you Sherlock.

_**Okay, enough of that: Song that inspired the chapter, my man Mycroft's theme song, Killer Queen by Queen. **_

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**"Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting." **  
**― Arthur Conan Doyle,_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _**

**John's POV**

Lestrade turned to John looking baffled as if he wasn't expecting them to just run off before he turned back into the room where the victim's body was still lying on the floor. Anderson, who John had begun to see why Sherlock and Lexi both seemed to dislike him, had been waiting with his forensic team on the next landing down. As soon as Lexi and Sherlock were out of sight and it was apparent that they would not be coming back any time soon, Anderson hurried up the stairs and followed Lestrade into the room.

"Let's get on with it," Anderson said as everyone seemed to forget about John now that Lexi and Sherlock had taken off to God only knows where. Where had they gone? What could they possibly have figured out? Pink was a very vague answer.

John hesitated on the landing for a moment before he slowly started making his way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurried up and one of them bumped against him, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the bannisters. The man hurried on without a word, although his colleague did at least look apologetically at John as he passed him. Grumbling to himself, John regained his balance before starting back down the stairs. It was like he was invisible. What was he even doing here? They said they needed him to prove a point, but John couldn't figure out exactly what point that was. He had hardly done anything before they had both run off. Of course what they had done had been bloody brilliant. John knew Sherlock was good, that was apparent with how much he was showing off, but Lexi had surprised him. She was just as good as Sherlock if not better. Part of her charm might be that she wasn't so rude or smug about her "deductions" as they called them as Sherlock was. Even without that John could tell that she was smart, really smart. In fact he might go as far to say that she was a genius. Something was nagging at him though in the corner of his mind. If she liked the work so much, why did she leave? She said she didn't take cases anymore, whatever that meant, but here she was working again.

John could tell there was a lot of animosity between Sargent Donovan, Anderson, and Lexi. They seemed to dislike Sherlock too, but the hate ran deeper in Lexi than in Sherlock. What could cause a girl that seemed so sweet and caring to have such strong dislike for a person? Sure, Lexi was odd, but she was alright or at least John thought so. She certainly kept you on your toes as Mike had told him, but she was nice. Beautiful too if John was being honest. John still wasn't sure about being flat mates with them though. He had no doubts that he and Lexi would get on well enough, but Sherlock was a different story. The man was just, well he was an arrogant sod. Somehow Lexi was managing to get along with him, but then again they both were the geniuses in the room. Still, things turned out better than they had. John was ready for them to start biting each other's heads off with the way they were acting before, but then they suddenly started working together. It was slightly disconcerting.

When John finally made it back down the stairs he removed his coverall and put his jacket back on, before walking out onto the street. He looked all around, but he couldn't see any sign of Sherlock or Lexi. It was as if they had vanished into thin air. Of course they had left without them. It wasn't like they needed him after all. What could two geniuses need him for in the first place? It was just as well, he told himself. He didn't need to get caught up in whatever they were doing. He was supposed to be helping them pay the rent after all, not solve crimes. He just wanted a quiet life with a few comforts. He at least deserved that much right? Sighing heavily he walked towards the police tape, still looking around as if half expecting Sherlock and Lexi to appear and start causing chaos again. Sargent Donovan was standing at the tape watching him almost with a look of pity on her face.

"They're gone," Donovan told him and John snapped his head up to look at her. Could she read his mind? John was slightly unsettled by the fact that he should have noticed her sooner.

"Who, Sherlock Holmes and Lexi MacKenna?" John asked her already knowing the answer to his question but wanting clarification.

"Yeah, they just took off. They do that," Donovan told him sounding snide. It was clear to John that there was no love between Sally Donovan and the two detectives. Again John wondered what could have caused such feelings at least between the woman and Lexi. John was quiet sure that Sherlock didn't have to do much for people not to like him, but Lexi was nice, some might say overly so, to other people. The only time he had seen her angry so far was with her phone which John couldn't help but find funny. Her nose scrunched up when she was angry, it was sort of cute. Not that John was interested in her in that way, but she might turn out to be a good friend at least.

"Are they coming back?" John asked tentatively. From the look on Sally's face the answer to that question was no. Great, he was stuck at a crime scene somewhere in London and they had just left him. Where even was he?

"Didn't look like it," Donovan told him sounding slightly sympathetic which was unusual for the woman. Sally Donovan hardly cared about anyone, but she felt bad for anyone who got mixed up with Sherlock Holmes and Lexi MacKeena. Especially with Lexi for that matter.

"Right," John said as he looked around the area again thoughtfully, unsure what to do. "Right ... Yes," He continued as he turned to Donovan again. "Sorry, where am I?" He asked her sheepishly. He felt like an idiot. He had just gotten in a cab with them and didn't even bother to ask where they were going. Actually, now that he thought about it, he had. They had only told him a crime scene, just not where that crime scene was.

"Brixton," Donovan answered him exasperatedly. John knew what she was thinking, how could he not even know where he was? Yeah, he was thinking the same thing. Brixton, he wasn't that far from Baker Street. Should he even go back there or should he just go back to where he was staying?

"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er ... well ...," John said as he awkwardly looked down at his walking stick. "...my leg." John felt ashamed having to say something. He didn't like the pitying looks people gave him or their attempts to help him. He didn't want the help or the pity. Lexi had seen his hand shaking, he was sure of that, but she hadn't commented on it. She also hadn't minded walking at his pace. It was subtle, but he could tell that she was aware of his "condition". Sherlock even brought up that his therapist thought his limp was psychosomatic. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the bloody limp or the pain he felt in his leg. He knew he shouldn't feel either, not from a shoulder wound, but he hated it and couldn't stop it.

"Er ..." Donovan told him as she stepped over to the tape and lifted it for him giving him that customary look of pity he despised. "...try the main road."

"Thanks," John told her as he ducked under the tap, just wanting to get away from the woman. She meant well obviously, but she was just like the rest.

"But you're not their friend," Donovan told him suddenly and John turned back towards her, at first not believing what he was hearing. "He doesn't have friends and she is completely mental. I don't even want to know how the two of them met. I can tell you though that both of them together is the worst thing that ever could have happened. So who are you?" She asked, more like demanded, of him. John didn't like where this was going and he also didn't like the way she was talking about Sherlock and Lexi. Even if Sherlock was, well…Sherlock, he couldn't be that bad. Calling Lexi mental made John cringe. He knew something had happened to her to cause her to leave, but calling her mental was a little harsh.

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met them," John told her truthfully a little put off by the way Donovan was describing Lexi. Sure she had run off with Sherlock too, but she seemed rather nice. She was a bit…eccentric, but not nearly in the same way as Sherlock. She was quirky, but that wasn't a bad thing. She lightened the mood at least and she didn't treat him any differently than she did Sherlock.

"Okay, bit of advice then, stay away from them if you know what's good for you," Donovan warned him sounding dead serious. What was her problem?

"Why?" John asked her sounding completely confused. What was so wrong about either of them?

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there. And "Lexi" she's the same as him, always has been, only she's even worse," Donovan said, saying Lexi's name like it was a dirty word. "She doesn't get paid either, she likes it as much as he does. She's completely mental. Had an accident a few years back. One day she's gonna snap and nothing that friend of hers says is going to make a difference. I'd even wager she'd be the one to put the body there first. They're perfect for each other." Donovan told him snidely as she bad mouthed the both of them. John felt uncomfortable, he didn't like speaking ill of anyone. It just…didn't seem like them. Sure he didn't know them that well but Lexi was alright and even Sherlock was half ways decent if John was being honest. There was nothing wrong with being slightly different. John noticed how they had seemed all too used to being called freaks. John wondered if that was normal for them. They had said that most people told them to piss off.

"Why would they do that?" John asked her not thinking that he even wanted to know the answer. Murder just didn't seem like something they would do. They were to…smart for that. Of course it was slightly disturbing how they knew everything from a glance, but actually killing someone? They didn't seem that mental.

"Because they're psychopaths. And psychopaths get bored," Donovan told him before Lestrade called for her from the entrance to the house. Donovan shouted back to him that she was coming before walking away. She turned back to John as she walked back to the house to give him one last warning. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes and Alexandra MacKenna."

John watched her go for a moment, completely not sure what to make of the warning he had been given. He shook his head in exasperation before turning and starting to limp off down the road. To his right, the phone in a public telephone box began to ring. He stopped short and looked at it for a few seconds but then looked down at his watch. It was late, really late. About time he should be at home, not out roaming the streets of London. He shook his head before continuing off down the road. This was ridiculous, he should have never agreed to come with them to the crime scene. He vaguely registered that the phone stopped ringing. John continued on hobbling down the street in a rather bad mood. He was stuck out in the middle of nowhere and the two bloody detectives had taken off without him. John didn't exactly care about not getting asked to come along too, he would rather stay out of things. It was more the fact that they had asked him there and then just left him behind while they swanned off. Not even a word of where they were going or a heads up of what they had figured out other than pink. What the hell did that even mean? After a relatively short period of time he found himself walking down Brixton High Road.

"Taxi! Taxi..." He cried as he attempted to hail a passing taxi, but like earlier that day the taxi just kept on going. John laughed bitterly after remembering Lexi's words from earlier. Being a woman had its advantages.

In Chicken Cottage, the fast food restaurant outside which John was standing, the payphone on the wall began to ring. John turned and looked as one of the serving staff walks over to it but as the man reached for the phone, it stopped ringing. John shook his head and cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. That was the second phone to start ringing on his way over here. Now he was getting paranoid. He needed a nice warm cuppa and a bit of a lie down. He was tired, that's all, nothing more to it. He continued walking down the road unsure exactly where he was heading. He could go back to Baker Street or he could go back to the depressing place he called home for now. Even the way things were turning out, going back to Baker Street sounded like a better option. Maybe he could find out more about Sherlock back at his flat, talk to Mrs. Hudson and learn more about him. He snapped his head up when he heard a phone ringing again. He located the source of the sound which was coming from the public telephone box right next to him. Mystified by this and ready to figure out just what was going on, he pulled open the door and went inside and lifted the phone off of the hook.

"Hello?" John asked into the phone hesitantly. A man's voice answered him a second later sounding slightly sinister. Older certainly, he had that sort of accent that screamed posh and proper.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" The man asked him. John frowned, what the hell was he talking about? Security cameras?

"Who's this? Who's speaking?" John asked irritably. Was this some sort of practical joke? If it was it wasn't funny and John was not in the least bit amused.

"Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?" Oh well that was bloody brilliant, whoever this person was they knew his name. John complied with the request and looked through the window of the phone box and located the CCTV camera which was high up on the wall of a nearby building.

"Yeah, I see it."

"Watch," The man ordered him and John watched as the camera, which had been pointing directly at the phone box, swiveled away. "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" The man continued and John looked across to the second camera which was also pointed towards the phone box. He was starting to feel uneasy, whoever this man was he knew his name and he was watching him.

"Mmm-hmm," John answered him uneasily as he watched the camera immediately swivel away like the first one had. He wasn't sure where this was going but he was certain that he probably wasn't going to like it much.

"And finally, at the top of the building on your right," The man told him and as soon as John located the third camera that was watching him it turned away like the others had. John's feeling of uneasiness grew significantly. Who the bloody hell was this guy?

"How are you doing this?" John asked him using his captain's voice. That was one thing her learnt in the military, never once show that you are afraid. It made people think they had an edge on you. John Watson was not one to get scared easily. He had invaded Afghanistan after all, gotten shot at, gotten shot, and generally saw things that no one should ever have to see. This was an entirely different sort of emotion and one he couldn't exactly place.

"Get into the car, Doctor Watson," The man ordered him just as a black car pulled up at the curbside near the phone and a male driver got out of the car and opened up one of the rear doors. "I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you," The man told him sounding slightly amused before the phone went dead. John put the phone back on the hook looking thoughtfully at it for a long moment. Bugger it all, it wasn't like he could do anything. This creep had already been watching him and following him. He left the phone box walking with a trained military air as he walked over to the car and slid into the back seat.

The car pulled away from the curb as soon as he got in and drove off. John shifted uneasily in his seat. He wasn't exactly fit enough to defend himself if it came to that. He had been in some rather bad positions before, but this one took the cake. **(A/N hehe cake reference in context with Mycroft)** It was then that John noticed that there was a rather attractive young woman sitting in the car beside him. Her eyes were fixed on her BlackBerry as she typed on it. John had seen a few people completely absorbed in their phones but this woman won a new record for technological dependence. The woman was ignoring him completely, but John felt the need to at least say something to her. He was, after all, a gentleman.

"Hello."

"Hi," The woman answered him looking up from her phone for a brief second to smile at him brightly before she turned her attention back to her mobile. Her fingers flew across the keyboard of her phone faster than John could process her movements.

"What's your name, then?" John asked her hoping to find out where he was being taken or at least something about the people that had practically kidnapped him right off the curbing. John felt suddenly uneasy when he realized that no one would know where he was. If this guy ended up to be some psychopathic killer, no one would know or care what happened to him. It wasn't something he was sure he wanted to think about.

"Er ... Anthea," She answered him after a second. A trained response to the question if ever John had seen one. Who were these people, the government? That was stupid, what would the government even want with him. He was nobody.

"Is that your real name?" John prompted, if anything just to keep her talking.

"No," She answered him smiling. John nodded and twisted to look out the rear window before turning back to her again. "I'm John," He introduced himself. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he felt stupid. Of course she knew who he was, whoever she was working for had kidnapped him. Great, he thought, sound like a complete idiot.

"Yes. I know," Anthea told him with an amused smile as she continued to type away on her Blackberry. John tried to subtly see who she was texting, but couldn't read her screen. She flicked her eyes up to him before continuing on with what John had to assume must be her entire life story with the amount she was typing.

"Any point in asking where I'm going?" John asked her sounding slightly hopeful, but completely doubting that she would tell him anything.

"None at all...," She told him smiling at her briefly before looking back at her phone again. "...John," She finished after a moment as if it was an afterthought or she simply just forgot who she was talking too.

"Okay," John told her settling down into the seat and sitting in uncomfortable silence. Since he had met Sherlock and Lexi his life had been completely thrown upside down. He had been dragged to a crime scene and now he had been kidnapped. John watched out the window as the dark streets of London raced by. It didn't take too long before the car pulled into and almost-empty warehouse. John had no clue where he was, but he knew he was nowhere around where he needed to be.

John looked out of the window of the car, trying to assess the situation before he got out of the car. A man in a very expensive looking suit was standing in the center of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella as he watched the car stop. John collected his wits before he slowly got out of the car, holding onto the door for support before he got his other foot on the ground. In front of the man was a straight-backed armless chair facing him, he gestured to it with the point of his umbrella as John limped towards him leaning heavily on his cane. This wasn't going to end well for John, he already realized that.

"Have a seat, John," The man told him calmly with this air of a posh man who was used to getting what he wanted around him. John continued walking towards him unwilling to give the man any sort of satisfaction of seeing that he was slightly unnerved.

"You know, I've got a phone," John told him his voice sounding a lot calmer than he felt as he looked around the warehouse trying to find some sort of clue as to where he had been taken. "I mean, very clever and all that, but er ... you could just phone me… on my phone," He continued as he walked straight past the chair and stopped a few paces away from the man. John was over average height, but he was not going to be intimidated by the taller man. There was no way he was going to be sitting either. John's eyes flickered to the man's umbrella for a brief moment, silently assessing any object that could possibly be used as a weapon. Not that John thought he would last long in any fight with this man, he probably had an entire team of men at his disposal.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place," The man told him. His voice which had had a pleasant smile accompanying it so far became a little sterner. John felt like he was being scolded by the man as if he was a small child. John felt slightly relieved however that the man had left Lexi out of the conversation. He wasn't sure why, but he had grown fond of the woman in only a short time. She just seemed so fragile, so sweet and delicate. There was no way he wanted this man anywhere near her. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down," The man demanded him sounding slightly more sinister than before. John gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw tightly.

"I don't wanna sit down," John told him refusing to do anything he told him to. The man looked at him curiously as if he was almost expecting this reaction.

"You don't seem very afraid," The man remarked quirking one eyebrow thoughtfully. He had a slight smirk on his face. If anything he looked more sinister when he was smiling than when he was frowning.

"You don't seem very frightening," John told him lying to himself slightly. The man was actually quite imposing. He chuckled at John's response. It was a sound that made John feel, if it was possible, even more uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" The man asked him as he looked at John sternly. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes and Alexandra MacKenna?" John swore to himself mentally. So this guy did know Lexi.

"I don't have one. I barely know them. I met them...," John said before looking away thoughtfully. It was surprising how little time had passed since he met the pair of detectives. Since he met them nothing had made any since to him at all. "...yesterday," He finished after a second. Had he really just met them yesterday? What sort of person goes to a crime scene with two people he just met the day before?

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with them and now you're solving crimes together," The man said sounding rather amused. Well, if you put it that way it did sound really bad. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week? I will warn you Alexandra doesn't share well with others, neither does Sherlock for that matter," The man asked him smiling in that way that made John's skin crawl.

"Who are you?" John asked him getting fed up with all of the secrecy now. Not to mention he felt really uncomfortable with where this was going.

"An interested party," The man answered him simply. Oh yeah, thanks for that, really helpful answer John thought angrily. Who was Mary Poppins and how did he know Sherlock and Lexi?

"Interested in Sherlock? In Lexi? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends," John scoffed remembering what Donovan had told him about Sherlock and Lexi not having any friends. John rather doubted that this man was the sort of person they would spend their time with either, but he couldn't be entirely sure. He had already been warned off from them. This man certainly had to know more about them then he did.

"You've met them. How many 'friends' do you imagine they have? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having. The closest thing to family that Alexandra has," The man told him sounding thoughtful when he mentioned the girl. John didn't like it that he knew her. He felt unsettled that this man had probably kidnapped her at some point too. What exactly was Lexi's connection to him and why did he say he was the closest thing she had to family? The longer John stayed here, the more questions he had about Lexi and Sherlock. A lot of those questions were about Lexi though. Sherlock was easy enough to understand, but Lexi was confusing.

"And what's that?" John asked him sounding bemused. What was it with Sherlock and Lexi that got everyone in a tizzy? First he had Donovan warning him off from even knowing them and now he had someone questioning him on how he knew them. Who were these people? Obviously they attracted a lot of attention and not all good attention either.

"An enemy and an annoyance."

"An enemy?" John asked him not bothering to comment on the last part. It was blatantly obvious why someone might think he was an annoyance. He was already getting on John's nerves and he hadn't been talking with him that long.

"In Sherlock's mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic. Lexi on the other hand would probably tell you I am the bane of her existence if you asked her. She does love to be overly dramatic, one only has to be in her company for a few minutes to see a display of her theatrics." John couldn't disagree with that. She was a little overly theatric, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

John looked pointedly around the warehouse ready to be done with the man's interrogation. "Well, thank God you're above all that," He told the man sarcastically. The man frowned at him. Just then John's phone trilled a text alert. He looked at the man for a long second before he dug into his jacket pocket and took out his phone. He unlocked it and read his text message while ignoring the man in front of him.

_**Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. **_**SH**

"I hope I'm not distracting you," The man said pleasantly enough with an amused smirk on his face as he leaned against his bloody umbrella.

"Not distracting me at all," John answered him casually as he took his time looking up from his phone before pocketing it again.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes and Ms. MacKenna?" The man demanded as soon as he had John's attention again. There was that sinister note in his voice again. It induced the same sort of feeling in John as Donovan's warning had.

"I could be wrong ... but I think that's none of your business," John told him honestly, standing his ground. He had been in the military for heaves sake. This was just one guy with an umbrella. He also looked like the posh type. Sure he seemed more threatening with the location and the black car and the mysterious ringing phone, but that was all an intimidation act.

"It could be," The man told him a little ominously. John snorted, that sounded likt the answer of a man that always got what he wanted and looking at him, John was quiet sure he was used to it.

"It really couldn't," John told him immediately. What he did with his life was none of this man's business. If he wanted to continue his "association" with Lexi and Sherlock then that would be his own choice not someone else's. The man reached for his jacket pocket and John tensed, expecting him to come back with a loaded gun, but he only calmly took a notebook from his inside pocket. The man opened it and consulted one of the pages before he responded.

"If you do move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way," He told John as he closed the notebook and put it away again.

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man," The man told him trying to play to his interests. If he thought he could be won over that quickly the man was sadly mistaken. John was not stupid, sure he wasn't as smart as Sherlock or Lexi, but he knew where this was going. Take the man's money and then he would never be left alone.

"In exchange for what?" John asked him not even considering taking his offer, but wanting to know exactly what the man was after. He wouldn't feel right if he just walked away now only to find out later that someone else had taken the offer which might put Lexi or Sherlock in danger.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what they're up to," The man told him, looking down at his umbrella before back up at John as if he was contemplating his words carefully.

"Why?"

"I worry about them. Constantly," The man told John sounding genuine for once. It surprised John, but he still wasn't going to bite. Spying on your flat mates for a strange man in a suit with a stupid umbrella didn't seem like the best way to get off on the right foot.

"That's nice of you," John told him insincerely trying to make it clear that he would not be accepting the business offer or whatever this was. Why would this man even worry about them?

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. Sherlock and I have what you might call a ... difficult relationship. While Alexandra knows of my concern she does not always heed my warnings," The man told him as John's phone trilled again alerting him to another text. He immediately fished the phone out of his pocket once again and read the message he had been sent.

_**If inconvenient, come anyway. SH**_

"No," John told him firmly in response to the man's offer still looking down at his phone. What did Sherlock want with him especially after he had left without him? John couldn't just blame him though, Lexi had run off too.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother," John told him as he stowed his phone away in his pocket again. No amount of money was going to get him to change his mind. He was not going to be doing anything to help this man.

The man laughed briefly, it didn't sound like he laughed often. "You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested," John told him honestly. It wasn't that he was loyal, he just really wasn't interested in spying on Sherlock or Lexi. He wanted a quiet life. That was it. Whatever they choose to get up to was up to them.

The man looked at him closely for a moment, then took out his notebook and opened it again. He gestured to it slightly to make it clear that he was reading a note from the book "'Trust issues," it says here."

"What's that?" John asked him, for the first time since their encounter began, dropping his calm demeanor and instead looking a little unnerved. That couldn't be what he thought it was.

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes and Ms. MacKenna of all people?" The man asked John as he looked down at his book again.

"Who says I trust them?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," The man stated before continuing. "And yet you've made quite an impression on Ms. MacKenna. She does seem rather taken with you."

"Are we done?" John asked him impatiently. He was getting tired of whatever the hell this was. He just wanted to have a sit down with a cuppa. The man raised his head and looked into John's eyes.

"You tell me," The man told him calmly. John looked at him for a long moment before turning his back on him and starting to walk away. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from them, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."

John stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulders tensed and dropped and he angrily shook his head a little. "My what?" He asked the man savagely through bared teeth having finally had enough of the games that the man was playing.

"Show me," The man told him calmly as he nodded towards John's left hand as he spoke. He planted the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leaned casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, was not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifted his feet under him as if digging in. He raised his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stood still. His message was clear, if the man wanted to look at his hand, he'd have to come to him. Unperturbed by his belligerence, the man strolled forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reached for John's hand. John instantly pulled his hand back a little.

"Don't," John warned him tensely. The man lowered his head and raised his eyebrows at John, almost as if saying, 'Did I mention trust issues?!' John very reluctantly lowered his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man took it in both of his own hands and looked at it closely.

"Remarkable," The man commented with interest as he studied John's hand closely.

"What is?" John asked him snatching his hand back. He didn't like the way the man was talking.

The man turned and walked a few paces away. "Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield," He said as he turned towards John again "You've seen it already, haven't you? I wonder what you see when you walk with Alexandra."

"What's wrong with my hand?" John asked him ignoring his comment about Lexi. Lexi… Alexandra, John wasn't sure what he saw when he walked with her either, but it definitely was not the battlefield.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." Unintentionally, John nodded his head in agreement. He cursed himself for doing so afterwards, but the damage was already done. "Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service," The man continued. John almost flinched as the man accurately fired off these facts at him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him and the muscle in his cheek started to twitch repeatedly as he clenched his jaw in anger.

"Who the hell are you? How do you know that?" John snapped at him angrily. How the hell did this man know all about this about him? How long had he been bloody watching him?

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady," The man commented. John's eyes flickered toward his hand before returning to stare ahead of himself, his face was set as he struggled to hold back his anger. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it," The man continued as he leaned closer to John. Reluctantly John raised his eyes to meet the man in front of him that was trying to intimidate him. "Welcome back," He told John in a whisper before he turned and stated to walk away to the back of the ware house. John's phone trilled another text alert "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson," The man called back casually twirling his umbrella as he walked.

John stood fixed to the spot for a few seconds. He was angry and confused. How the bloody hell did this man know him or Sherlock or Lexi for that matter? He just walked out of there like he was the bloody king of England. John clenched and unclenched his jaw before he turned and glanced towards the departing man one last time. Behind him, the car door opened and not-Anthea got out and walked a few paces towards him. Her attention was still entirely consumed by the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands. Did she ever put her phone down for a second? What was so bloody important?

"I'm to take you home," She told John who half-turned toward her before stopping and taking out his phone to look at the new message.

"_**Could be dangerous. SH" **_The text read. Jaw clenched his jaw in anger again. He had had far more than enough for one night thank you very much. His phone trilled again with a new text message and John, against his better judgment, opened the new text and read it.

_**Sorry about leaving you like that earlier. Heading to Baker Street to see what Sherlock wants. Don't feel too put out with us. I'll make you a cuppa when we get back. –LM**_

John shook his head at the second text he had received before putting his phone back in his pocket. He sighed heavily, his anger lessening slightly. At least Lexi had apologized to him unlike Sherlock. The nagging feeling came back as John thought over her text message. She said she was heading back to Baker Street now. That meant that she wasn't with Sherlock. She had left with him though. John flicked his gaze over to where the mysterious man had departed. Did he pick up Lexi too? Maybe she and Sherlock had just split up. John was determined to find out who the man was and what he wanted with Sherlock and Lexi. John held out his left hand in front of him again and studied the lack of tremor coming from it. He smiled wryly to himself.

"Address?" Anthea asked him suddenly breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first," John told her as he turned and walked back over to her.

He was driven back to his bedsit and he walked inside switching on the light and closing the door behind him hurriedly, not like he thought that would make any difference if the man really wanted to watch his every move. He crossed the room to his desk and opened one of the drawers taking out his pistol. He checked the clip before tucking the gun into the back of the waist band of his jeans before turning and leaving. If he was going to go back to Baker Street he was going to make sure that he had some insurance. It had been all too easy to kidnap him right off the street. He went back out to the street and slid back into the back seat of the car which took off again. Not long after the car pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street. Not-Anthea was still entirely engrossed in whatever she was typing on her phone. John was convinced by now that she was writing a full length novel.

"Listen, your boss…any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?" John asked her hopefully as he looked across the car at her.

"Sure," She told him nonchalantly not even looking up from her phone. From her tone of voice and how quickly she had answered him, he already knew. Just bloody perfect.

"You've told him already, haven't you?" John said defeatedly with a sigh. She looked up from her phone and smiled across at him briefly.

"Yeah," She admitted and John nodded in resignation and turned to get out of the car. Just as he opened the door, he turned back to her.

"Hey, um ... do you ever get any free time?"

She chuckled before answering him. "Oh, yeah. Lots," She told him sarcastically as she typed away at her phone. John waited expectantly, but she continued working on her phone for a long moment before turning and looking at him before allowing her gaze to drift past him to the door of 221B. "Bye," She told John making it clear that she wasn't interested and their conversation had officially come to an end.

"Okay," John said for lack of anything better to say before he got out of the car and closed the door. He watched the car pull away before he turned and walked across the pavement to the front door of 221B. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for someone to answer it. This day was just getting better and better and from the texts he had received, it was about to get a lot worse.


	6. Could Be Dangerous

(A/N) Annnd back to Lexi's POV for the next few chapters. Oh My God, this story had 50 followers already. I cannot thank each and everyone of you enough. I love each and every one of you that has followed, faved, bloody hell, even read my story this far. Cheers mates, you made this author truly happy. I am so glad you all love Lexi so much. I love writing each chapter and I have some big plans for this story. BIG plans I should say. You should see the stack of notes I have. Anyway, thank you all again, you made me want to cry tears of joy. And now the gang wanted to say there own personal thanks.

Lexi: Aww guys, you made me blush. I'm glad you love me, 'cos you know you love me right? Right? Good.

Sherlock: I don't care what you all think, I'm bored. I NEED a case.

John: He means thank you.

Sherlock: Do I?

John: Just say it.

Sherlock: *sighs heavily* Fine. Thank you.

Mycroft: He always did upset Mummy.

Lexi: Oi! Enough you two. I believe our fabulous readers want to get on to the chapter.

John: Exactly.

Sherlock: ...

Mycroft: ...

Yeah I know...*laughs nervously* in my defense, I was bored and didn't have a wall to shoot. Anyway...

Song that Inspired the Chapter: Waiting Outside the Lines by Greyson Chance

**Noted for all future chapters: I get all my transcripts for the Sherlock episodes from the lovely Ariane DeVere on live journal. You are a saint, I was writing everything up from watching the episode scene by painstaking scene before.**

* * *

Chapter Five- Could Be Dangerous

**"It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important."  
― Arthur Conan Doyle, **_**The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes**_

**Lexi's POV**

I looked down at my phone as it trilled my text alert, I unlocked my phone, the light from the screen illuminating the back seat of the car. I had one new text message from none other than consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. I smiled ruefully as I opened up the text.

_**Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH**_

I laughed, especially at the fact that he had signed his initials, as if I didn't know that it had come from him. This was perfect, he must have found the case we had been looking for. I smiled again when my phone trilled another text alert.

_**If inconvenient, come anyway. SH**_

"_**On my way as soon as I can. LM**_," I texted Sherlock back with a little smile on my face after adding my initials. This was the most fun I had had in ages. It beat spending a night in my flat eating popcorn and watching movies with horribly predictable plot lines. I sat back in my seat hoping Mycroft would hurry up with John so we could head back to Baker Street. I was itching to go through Jennifer Wilson's case and see if there was anything in it that could lead us to our killer. Thankfully I didn't have to wait too long for his highness to get finished threatening John. Mycroft was smiling smugly as he returned to the car which was never a good sign for whoever he had just been talking to. My phone lit up and alerted me to another text just as he got to the car and Allen got out to open the door for him.

_**Could be dangerous. SH**_

I sighed before ginning and sending a quick text to John, a sort of apology for ditching him earlier. I knew he probably wasn't in such a good mood after meeting Mycroft, most people normally weren't. The man in question slid into the back seat sitting across from me once again. I put my phone away as soon as he got back into the car and watched him. He seemed satisfied with his meeting. So, either he successfully managed to scare John away from me or he actually thought that John would be a good influence on me.

"So I'm assuming John passed your inspection and he won't be deported," I remarked hopefully as Mycroft got out his phone. He was probably checking in with Anthea otherwise known as Charlotte. I was probably the only one besides Mycroft to know her actual name.

"Yes, he is rather loyal and admirable. I noticed his posture changed every time I mentioned you. You seem to have made quite a lasting impression upon him in such a short period of time," Mycroft told me smiling smugly as he put his phone back inside the inner pocket of his suit. Apparently Anthea told him something he had been expecting. That could only mean that John was headed back to Baker Street. I beamed at Mycroft in silent triumph.

"You know me Croft, I make a lasting impression on everyone, especially you if I remember correctly," I told him, poking him in the arm playfully, giggling when he glared at me. As much as Mycroft annoyed me I actually was very fond of him. What more, I loved to annoy him.

"Hmm… a fact that I am painfully aware of," Mycroft remarked with a grimace as I giggled in my seat. This was why Mycroft and I never hung out for too long. He claimed he could only stand so much of my company. I didn't mind, Mycroft really couldn't stand anyone. The fact that he chose to spend the most time with me beside Anthea was flattering.

"Can you swing by my flat? I need to pick up my case bag before I head back to Baker Street. Sherlock texted me so I am assuming he made a break through without me," I asked Mycroft who sighed heavily. I giggled again and rolled my eyes at him. Someone was grumpy today, his diet must not be going too well. He was always grumpy when he was hungry.

"Are you seriously considering continuing your association with Sherlock and Dr. Watson?" Mycroft asked me sounding tired. I sighed before staring at him pointedly.

"Yup, whether you like it or not Croft. I like them," I told Mycroft as I leaned forward and poked him in the chest. Mycroft grimaced at this before slapping my hand away. There was one thing Mycroft Holmes couldn't stand at that was being poked. For a man who like to intimate others he was rather self-conscious. "John is nice and as you said loyal. As for your brother, you've been keeping us apart for far too long. You should be happy, I'm doing what you wanted me too, getting back into the cases."

"Yes, but I never said to start working cases with my baby brother. Fine, continue your association with them both, but I will be checking up on you more regularly. I may trust you, but I do not trust my brother," Mycroft finally relented. I smiled back at him knowing I had won this round.

"Thank you Croft," I told him as the car pulled up at my old flat. I bolted out of the car and stomped up the stairs to my flat noisily. It was an indication to my landlord or anyone else that wanted to seek my presence that I was in a hurry. I heard the door to my land lord's flat close as I unlocked my own flat and ran inside. He must have gotten the hint that I was not in the mod to see anyone right now. I needed to get back to Baker Street and pronto. I collected the leather messenger bag that Mycroft had gotten me a long time ago that I used as my case bag. I threw in a whole bunch of odds and ends that I thought I might need while on a case, a notebook, a pen, my laptop.

I ran over to my dresser and pulled out my mittens, it was getting colder out and I would probably be out late tonight. I exchanged my scarf for my favorite red plaid one knowing that I would be grateful for the thicker wool later on. If Sherlock found the case that meant that we had a way of finding our killer. That called for a long nights of work. I felt excited, the familiar rush of energy that I used to have on cases coming back like a muscle memory. I changed my jumper, opting for a grey, soft woollen one instead, and fixed my hair up so that it was a little neater. It was then that I realized that I still had my glasses on. I laughed at how silly I must look to Mycroft. My hair had been a mess and my case glasses were still on. I looked like I used to when I was working on a case, when he would come and get me after I had been working for three days straight and force me to go home to rest. I did one final sweep over my flat before nodding and hurrying out of my flat.

I locked my door behind me, flying down the stairs two at a time before I ran out and slid back into the car beside Mycroft. He was looking disdainfully at the building I resided in. "The only consolation of your association with my brother and the good doctor is that you will be moving out of this place. I'll have someone move your stuff over for you by tomorrow and your land lord will be informed of your departure," Mycroft told me as the car pulled back onto the road heading back to Baker Street.

"Thank you Croft," I told him with a grin. I didn't like fighting with him or even having a disagreement with him. Mycroft could be rather pleasant when we were getting along. As much as I complained, I cared for Mycroft like a brother.

I met Mycroft Holmes on one of my cases. I had lied my way into a government party for the purposes of a case I was working on. The evening had been passing rather pleasantly and no one seemed to realize that I hadn't even been invited to the party in the first place. That was, until Mycroft saw me. He had come right over to me and started deducing me. He smiled pleasantly as he escorted me out of the party, yet he hadn't alerted the police or the secret service to my presence. He simply told me that he would be keeping an eye on me. He was the first person to be able to see right through me. I had tried to forget about the posh man I had met, but it was not long after that first meeting that I had, like John, been kidnapped by one of Mycroft's black cars. He pulled out all the stops for me too, the phone calls and the CCTV camera demonstration. It was a rather eventful first meeting. He tried to intimidate me, but I ended up getting the upper hand in that conversation. I noticed the black cars following me after that first meeting, but I left him to do whatever he wanted to. As far as I was concerned he could play his little games for as long as he pleased. He didn't bother me in the least bit in fact I found it rather flattering that he was following me around.

The car pulled up at Baker Street in no time and as it slowed I collected my bag and looked at Mycroft who was studying me curiously. "Thanks for the ride. I'll text you if I'm having thoughts of killing Sherlock," I told Mycroft offhandedly as I slipped out of the car before the driver could open the door for me.

"Do try to not cause trouble. The paperwork is substantial I assure you," Mycroft drawled out lazily sounding bored. I saluted him before heading for the door to 221B. I knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer it. Mycroft called good night to me through his open window before his car pulled away from the curbing. He probably had been updated by Anthea that John would be returning soon. He must have had Anthea take him the long way, possibly even driving around for a bit so that he could drop me off at Baker Street first. Mycroft loved to be dramatic and if John found out who he was too soon, his whole show in the warehouse would be a lot less threatening.

I didn't have to wait long before Mrs Hudson opened the door for me and tittered about how it was too cold for me to be standing outside as she ushered me inside. "Come in out of the cold. Sherlock's upstairs. Where did John get off to?" She asked me as she closed the door behind me. I slid off my coat and folded it over my shoulder as the warm air of 221B hit my face.

"He'll be back soon. Sherlock and I had to run off so I had a friend of mine give him a ride," I told Mrs Hudson smirking at my own personal joke as we headed up the stairs together. It wasn't as if John really had a choice, but I knew that he should be getting back soon. Actually he was due back any minute if Mycroft got his timing right. "I'll just see what Sherlock wanted. Don't worry yourself, I'll keep an eye on him for a bit," I told Mrs Hudson, taking the stairs slowly, aware that she had a bad hip.

"Thank you dear, I do worry about him sometimes," Mrs Hudson confided in me and I gave a small laugh as we got to the landing. The door to the flat was wide open and I could see Sherlock lying on the couch, his hands under his chin in a prayer like pose.

"You're not the only one," I told the woman, patting her on the arm affectionately, before stepping into the flat after rapping on the door to alert Sherlock to my presence. I would have thought he was sleeping if his breathing wasn't as relaxed as it would be in sleep. He also didn't seem like the sort of person to take a nap while on a case. "So did you find the case?" I asked him as I hung up my coat behind the door along with my scarf.

I walked over to Sherlock and poked him in the leg as I passed by him before I went and plopped myself down in Sherlock's chair. I lounged in his chair, knowing that it would only annoy him. The man in question remained silent, not even acknowledging the fact that I had poked him. I was about to get up and poke him again to see if he was alright when all of a sudden he pushed himself up from the couch and just walked out of the room. I snorted in amusement as I heard him shuffling around nosily in another room, his bedroom probably. I swung my legs over the arm of his chair and nestled down in it, stretching out to find a comfortable position. Sherlock came back a minute later carrying a box of nicotine patches. He sat down on the couch before looking up seeming startled by my sudden appearance. "When did you get back?" He asked me and I cocked my head to the side as I regarded him.

"About a minute or two ago," I told him as picked up his violin. I plucked the strings slightly ignoring the murderous look that Sherlock was shooting my way. Someone was rather possessive. "It's a beautiful instrument," I complimented as I put it back in its place. I didn't want to push him too far. It was one thing to mess with Mycroft, I had known him for far longer than Sherlock. Sherlock might be like his brother, but he was also a lot different too.

"Do you play?" Sherlock asked me as he started pulling patches out of the box. As he spoke he rolled up the sleeves to his dress shirt and started to apply the patches to his arm. Three patches, someone had a little bit of a nicotine problem. I grimaced, that wasn't healthy by anyone's definition.

"Mmmm hmmm," I hummed in agreement. "I play the viola though," I told him as he looked back up at me. He gestured to the box of patches, a silent offer and I shook my head quickly. "I'm good thanks," I told him as I settled back into his chair. Sherlock just made a sound of agreement before stashing his patches on the side of the couch and lying back down in his praying pose again. I took out my phone and covertly snapped a picture of him which I sent to Mycroft.

Sherlock shifted in his seat, with his eyes still closed he started pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. He was pressing on the patches to get the nicotine to release more quickly. I watched him closely, slightly amused by him. He was just as dramatic as Mycroft. His eyes snapped open wide and he stared fixedly up towards the ceiling before he sighed out a noisy breath and relaxed. Someone was getting high on nicotine. I heard a knock on the door down stairs and sent a quick text to Mycroft's assistant Anthea thanking her for returning John to Baker Street. The door opened downstairs and a few seconds later I could hear the low voices downstairs as Mrs Hudson let him in. John started up the stairs and he walked through the door before stopping and starring at Sherlock who was repeatedly clenching and unclenching his left fist.

"What are you doing?" John asked him as he watched him closely. I flipped myself over and lolled my head over the edge of Sherlock's chair, swinging my legs up over the back of it. I stared up at both men upside down, letting all the blood rush to my head. John looked over to me after hearing the movement on the leather and he shook his head at me with a bemused smile on his face as he took in my posture. I grinned back at him as I casually kicked my legs back and forth over the back of the chair.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think," Sherlock answered him calmly as he lifted his right hand to show the three round patches that he had stuck to his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work," He continued loudly clicking the 'k' at the end of the work.

"Its good news for breathing," John commented as he walked further into the room seeming to get over the initial shock of Sherlock. I hummed to myself as I put my hands in a meditative pose and closed my eyes. The blood had sufficiently rushed to my head by now. It helped me think and was a lot better for me than nicotine. These days I decided to stay away from any type of drug, even the legal kinds. I took a few deep breaths, calming my system as I fidgeted, trying to get slightly more comfortable.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring," Sherlock told him dismissively as I hummed to myself again. I lifted one lid slowly to see that John was watching me closely before he turned back to Sherlock and frowned as he looked at his arm more closely.

"Is that three patches?" John asked him sounding surprised. I hummed again, more of a confirming note than a meditative one. I peeled my eyes open and sighed as I rested my hands on my stomach and started up at both men before swinging my legs down to the floor and sitting upright.

Sherlock pressed his hands together in the prayer position under his chin again before answering John. "It's a three-patch problem," He told him simply as he closed his eyes again. John looked around the room for a moment before looking back at Sherlock again.

"Well?" John asked him. There was a long silent pause. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important," He continued. Sherlock didn't respond again, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open. He didn't bother turning his head to look at John as he answered him.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked him and I snorted. That was what was what was so dangerous?

"My phone?" John asked him exasperatedly and I giggled at his expression. His eyes snapped towards me and he fixed me with a glare which only made me giggle worse.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website," Sherlock explained to him offhandedly as he stayed in his praying pose unaffected by my giggle fest.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone," John pointed out, starting to sound irritated as he turned back to Sherlock. I clutched my stomach and breathed in and out to calm myself down from my laughter.

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

"I was the other side of London," John told him starting to sound angry. I had been on the other side of London too, but you didn't see me complaining. In fact, we both were in the same place, not like John knew that.

"There was no hurry," Sherlock told him mildly. John glared at him as Sherlock gazed serenely up at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. John dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and held it out towards him.

"Here," John told him through gritted teeth. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his right hand with his palm facing up. John glowered at him for a moment before stepping forward and slapping the phone into his hand roughly. Sherlock slowly lifted his arm and put his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turned and walked a few paces away before turning around again.

"So what's this about…the case?" John asked Sherlock, but I answered for him as he sat in his drugged state.

"Her case John, like we said back at the crime scene. Her case was missing," I answered him lazily as I got up from the chair and walked over to the mantle with my hands folded behind my back. I lifted my hand up to my head and pulled my hair out of its bun letting my hair cascade back down my back. I started finger combing through it as I watched John. He was following my movements with his eyes. What was it with men and my hair?

"Her case?" John asked me confused as I started quickly braiding my hair down my back. When I finished with my French braid I went and balanced myself on the arm of the couch near Sherlock's head. He opened one eye a crack and lazily looked up at me for a brief moment before closing his eyes again. He was so completely high on nicotine right now it was a wonder that he could still think. One look at the box earlier and I could determine that he was already using the highest dose available over the counter.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake," Sherlock answered him opening his eyes and flickering them up to me as I looked down at him with an amused expression in my face. I was fighting the urge to poke him again. His eyes were slightly glazed over, his reactions times probably slow enough for me to get away with it. I wanted to stay on his good side though.

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock muttered quietly to me and I nodded understanding where his train of thought was going. As he was talking with John I had put together the pieces of the puzzle. He had found the case, but the phone must not have been there. That meant that he wanted John to text the woman's number because it was possible that the murderer had her missing mobile. He raised his voice a little as he imperiously held the phone out towards John who was still not looking at him. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John half-smiled at him in angry disbelief. "You brought me here ... to send a text?" John asked Sherlock tightly.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk," Sherlock told him sounding oblivious to his anger. He continued to hold the phone out while John glowered at him. It looked like he was possibly wondering if he could get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually he stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolded his hands under his chin and closed his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walked over to the window and looked out of it into the street below. Sherlock opened his eyes and tilted his head slightly towards him. I knew what John was looking for, a black car or an oddly positioned camera.

"What's wrong?" I asked John raising one eyebrow as I acted like I had no idea at all what he was looking for. Of course I knew that Mycroft probably had people watching us right now.

"Just met a friend of yours, the both of yours apparently," John remarked as he continued to look out of the window, not doing a good job of hiding what he was doing. I would have to work on his skills, he couldn't be so obvious all the time.

Sherlock frowned in confusion as I cocked my head to the side and regarded him. "A friend?" Sherlock asked John.

"An enemy," John elaborated and Sherlock immediately relaxed.

"Oh. Which one?" Sherlock asked him calmly.

"Your arch-enemy, according to him," John said as he turned towards Sherlock before turning and looking at me. "He said you would consider him the bane of your existence," John continued before looking back at Sherlock. "Do people have arch-enemies?"

Sherlock looked at him narrowing his eyes suspiciously as I tried to stifle a giggle. Of course Mycroft would bring that up, he could be so overly dramatic. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked him still studying him trying to deduce his answer before he gave it.

"Yes, to spy on both of you actually," John remarked as he eyed the two of us curiously. Aww, Mycroft was so sweet. He really did care about me.

"Did you take it?" I asked John with a raised eyebrow. I knew he hadn't given Mycroft's demeanor back in the car. He seemed a little put out like he hadn't gotten exactly what he wanted from John. That made my night so much better.

"No," John told me and I laughed as I got up from the arm of the couch and skipped over to him and patted him consolingly on the shoulder. He looked up at me curiously. I noticed then that I was at least six or so inches taller than John. He seemed a little self-conscious to this fact as he noticed the height difference as well.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time," Sherlock told him sounding completely unaffected by this revelation.

"Who is he?" John asked us as I moved to the window and gave a little wave across the way to the window that was open. Mycroft had people watching Baker Street and I knew they could probably hear every word of what we were saying. Mycroft had eyes and ears all over the city.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now," Sherlock answered him softly as I giggled next to John. Mycroft was sure to love that description of his character. I would have to deflate his ego the next time I saw him.

"He's your worst nightmare, but like Sherlock said not our problem right now. Besides, I have that little conundrum covered for the most part leaving us free to do what we need to," I told John as I walked over to the mantle and stood with my back to the boys as I checked my phone. Mycroft hadn't sent me back any comment on the picture I had sent off to him.

"I'm interested, how do you know him?" Sherlock asked me suddenly. I looked up from my phone and over at him as we both studied one another. I shrugged before turning around to face the two men who were waiting for my answer.

"I met him at a party I wasn't exactly invited to. He hasn't left me alone since. Where do you need that text sent?" I asked Sherlock trying to steer the conversation away from how I knew Mycroft. If we continued on that subject I would have to explain other reasons why I knew him and I wasn't in the mood to get into my personal life right now. Sooner or later it would come out, but I was aiming for later rather than sooner. We had a case to work on right now and I couldn't get distracted by reliving the past. I had done some things I wasn't proud of and there were things that had happened that I would rather forget than remember.

"On my desk, the number," Sherlock answered me after a seconds pause. It looked like he wasn't done questioning me, but was done for now. I couldn't blame him for being curious as to why and how I knew his brother. It didn't surprise me that I finally met Mycroft's mysterious brother either. I had known he had a brother to be sure, he would mention him often enough, but every time I hinted to wanting to meet him, Mycroft would always change the subject. I now realized that he hadn't wanted Sherlock and I to meet because he thought the both of us were trouble. It seemed like our meeting had been inevitable however given our chosen occupations and who we employed as company. Sherlock looked away again as John looked at me incredulously, as if questioning why I was acquiescing to Sherlock's ridiculous request. I understood that he had sent the texts to John because he knew it would make John return to Baker Street. He, like me, wanted to keep John around. John give Sherlock a dark look but he had already looked away again and was back in his prayer pose. He walked over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper that had been taken from a luggage label. He looked at the name on the paper for a long moment before looking up at me.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number," Sherlock snapped out. John shook his head angrily as he got out his phone and started to type the number into it. I stood watching their interaction completely amused. I could now understand some of what Mycroft had told me about his brother. He did like to be dramatic, but so did Mycroft. The only difference between the two brothers was that Mycroft used charm to get his way while Sherlock was blunt. I actually preferred Sherlock's bluntness over Mycroft's false charm. Both of them were fun to annoy however.

"Are you doing it?" Sherlock asked John after a moment where the only sound in the room came from John trying to type on his phone. It was slightly painful to watch him, it was apparent that he didn't text often.

"Yes."

"Have you done it?" Sherlock snapped out again as I hid my smile at his impatience. And people thought I was as bad as Sherlock?

"Ye... hang on!" John snapped back in frustration. I giggled as I walked over to John. The poor man was going to have an aneurism if Sherlock didn't lay off of him for a second.

"Let me," I told John as I held my hand out for his phone. He inhaled before letting out his held breath and handing me over his phone seeming to calm down slightly. I patted his back as he passed me and plopped down heavily into what I now considered to be his armchair. I finished typing the phone number off of the card before Sherlock spoke again.

"These words exactly, 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'" Sherlock dictated and I quickly wrote up the text as John watched me type away at the keyboard on his phone. "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?" John asked Sherlock frowning as he snapped his head away from me to look back at Sherlock again. I raised one eyebrow as I paused typing to watch the two men.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock told him as he flipped his legs around and stood up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen which apparently involved walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than walking around it. "Type and send it. Quickly," He snapped back as he walked into the kitchen. He came back into the room a second later carrying a small pink suitcase. Walking over to the dining table, he lifted one of the dining chairs and flipped it around, setting it down in front of his armchair before putting the suitcase on it and sitting in his chair.

"Have you sent it?" He asked me still sounding demanding and snappish. I looked up from the phone pausing in my typing again.

"What's the address?" I asked Sherlock innocently. I could remember it just fine, I just wanted to piss him off a little bit more.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock snapped at me impatiently. I giggled at him which only caused him to snap his head up to glare at me.

"Oi, don't get your knickers in a twist! I sent it," I told Sherlock who huffed back in response as he unzipped the case and flipped open the lid revealing the contents. John covered up a laugh with a cough sounding slightly more convincing this time. Good, he was improving. I looked up at him and smiled at him cheekily before handing him back his phone. I walked over to Sherlock's chair and balanced myself on the arm precariously beside him. Upon inspection of the case, I noticed that there were only a few items of clothing and underwear all in varying horrific shades of pink, a wash bag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come to Bed Eyes" in the bag. Hmm, had Jenifer met Sherlock before? He did have rather lovely eyes. John turned towards the case and I caught his eyes widen slightly in shock as he realized what he was looking at.

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case," John said sounding bemused and I looked up at him with another grin.

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock answered him as he studied the case closely. John continued to stare at him before looking back at me. Sherlock broke his intense stare with the case to look up at him and then rolled his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her," Sherlock told him sarcastically. I giggled and rolled my eyes at Sherlock.

"I never said you did," John told him as he looked at me with an expression of exasperation. I only shrugged at him and looked around the case moving a few things around to get a better look at its contents.

"Why not? Given the text I just had you two send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption," Sherlock continued as I frowned at what I was finding or rather what I wasn't finding. Her phone wasn't with her case. Ah…that was why Sherlock had us send the text, he thought the murderer had her mobile.

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John asked the both of us. I snorted at him and rolled my eyes again before smiling brightly at him.

"Now and then, yes, " Sherlock told him with a large smirk on his face.

"Sometimes yes. After all Sherlock and I can tell you exactly how the murderer killed the victim. It is slightly suspicious," I told John truthfully as Sherlock put his hands onto the arms of the chair, using my leg instead of one of the arms, and lifted his feet up and under him so he was perching on the back of the seat. He clasped his hands under his chin again as I took the opportunity to swing my legs onto the seat while I continued to sit on the armrest. He glared at me briefly but I stuck my tongue out at him in response before turning back to look at John who was staring at the two of us and our childish antics.

"Okay. How did you get this?" John asked the two of us as he shifted in his chair.

"By looking," Sherlock told him simply. John looked at me expectantly, obviously hoping for a better explanation, preferably one with more details.

"I was otherwise engaged so I left the searching to him," I told John without giving away the fact that my "engagement" had really been an abduction by Mycroft. That explanation would take way too long.

"Where?" John asked Sherlock who sighed in exasperation.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention…particularly a man, which is statistically more likely… so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock told us and I wrinkled my nose.

"So that's the smell? I'm actually glad I was needed somewhere else right now. I'll leave the dumpster diving to you," I told Sherlock as I got up from the chair now that I knew where the smell that had been rather pungent for the last few minutes was coming from. I crossed to the other armchair and sat down on the armrest next to John. He straightened up a little in his chair, aware of our suddenly close contact.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John asked us suddenly as Sherlock sent me a glare for my comment about the way he smelt. It wasn't my fault that he smelt terrible. He was the one who went to go look through skips.

"It obviously had to be pink. She seemed rather fond of the colour as you can see from the clothes in her case, also what she was wearing at the crime scene," I told John as I grimaced as I gave the clothes another once over. The colour was rather nauseating. I wasn't fond of pink, probably because I looked terrible in the colour due to my very vibrant red hair.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked himself as he sighed and looked up at me.

"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock told him. John looked across to him startled by his insult at his intelligence. I frowned at Sherlock. John was actually quiet brilliant. Sherlock made a placatory gesture with one hand. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is," Sherlock said as he refolded his hands and then extended his index fingers to point at the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing? Either of you?"

"From the case? How could I?" John asked him as I perked up in my spot and smiled at Sherlock.

"Her phone is missing. There was no phone on the body and there's no phone in the case. We know she had one because we just texted her number. So where is it?" I asked the both of them. Sherlock nodded at my spot on observation.

"Maybe she left it at home," John offered up. I shook my head and cocked my head to the side in thought. Sherlock put his hands onto the arms of the chair and raised himself up so that he could sit down on the chair properly again.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home," Sherlock told him as he put the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case before looking up at John expectantly.

"Er..." John said as he looked down at his mobile which he had put on the arm of his chair. "Why did Lexi and I just send that text?" John finally asked Sherlock.

"Well, the question is as Lexi already asked, where is her phone now?" Sherlock asked John trying to get him to work through the answer on his own. I looked down at John and nudged him along. I knew that he could figure it out.

"She could have lost it," John said sounding unsure of himself. I smiled at him encouragingly.

"Yes, or...?" I asked John urging him to continue.

"The murderer...," John said slowly as he watched me closely. I nodded at him enthusiastically. "You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Correct Watson!" I cheered as I nudged him in his good shoulder. He looked up at me smiling slightly at my enthusiasm.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone," Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes at me for my over exuberant behaviour. I narrowed my eyes at him and snorted in response.

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did we just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John asked us as right on cue his phone started ringing. He picked it up and looked at the screen for the Caller I.D. I held my hair back as I leaned over his lap to get a look at his phone. I didn't even notice when he froze at my closeness. The screen read withheld calling. I straightened up and John cleared his throat before he looked across to Sherlock as the phone continued to ring.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." Sherlock said as he paused dramatically for a moment until the phone stopped ringing.

"But the murderer would panic," I finished for him with a grin as he flipped the lid of the suitcase close and stood up at the same time I did. He walked across the room to pick up his jacket as John continued to stare down at his phone. Sherlock put his suit jacket back on before he walked towards the door. .

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked us as he finally looked up at the both of us.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police," Sherlock told him as he walked to the door and I snorted at that. He was right however, there wasn't time to talk to the police. The murderer would strike again and soon. We needed to solve the case before they killed again.

"I'm sure Lestrade would appreciate it, but you're right, there's not a lot of time right now," I told Sherlock who smirked at me. I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. He better not get used to me agreeing with him because it wasn't going to be an all the time thing.

"So why are you talking to me?" John asked us as Sherlock reached behind the door and took his greatcoat from the hook beside the one I had hung my coat up on. He looked across the room towards John and suddenly frowned. I looked to where his line of sight fell and noticed that something was missing from the mantelpiece. Awww Yorrick was missing.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull," Sherlock whined and I patted him on the arm consolingly. I kind of missed Yorrick, he added character to the room.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" John asked him as Sherlock pulled his coat on.

"Relax, you're doing fine," Sherlock told him as he reached behind the door and pulled my trench coat off of the hook next to his. John continued to sit in his chair just staring at us.

"Well?" Sherlock asked him as he held my coat out for me to slip into.

"Well what?" John asked us sounding confused.

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly," I pointed out as I slid my arms into my coat and let Sherlock help me put it on.

"What, you want me to come with you two?" John asked us sounding generally surprised. I smiled back at him encouragingly.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so ...," Sherlock said and John smiled at the both of us briefly. "Problem?" Sherlock asked him as he pulled his scarf off of the hook and handed me mine. I put it on before I cocked my head to the side and studied John.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan," John told us. I snorted and rolled my eyes. That woman, of course she had said something to John. She never knew when to just mind her own business.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked John as he looked away in exasperation. We shared a look, one that showed our mutual feelings for the woman.

"She said ... You both get off on this. You enjoy it," John said and I snorted again. Donovan didn't like me from day one. Of course I had just showed up at the crime scene. I had been in a heated argument with Sally when Lestrade came over to see what was going on. I told him I was a consulting detective and I merely wanted to offer my services to the police force. After the fifth serial murder I had decided to get involved as the police seemed incompetent. Lestrade invited me into the crime scene ignoring Sally's protests. I figured out the case after a rather long night and the next morning the police were arresting the murderer. I was always invited to a crime scene after that by Lestrade, but Sally never got over our first meeting.

"And I said "dangerous", and here you are," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he turned and gestured for me to go ahead of him. I walked out of the door with Sherlock behind me and we started down the stairs with smirks on our faces. I looked over at Sherlock who looked rather charming when he was smiling. He had a sort of boyish charm around him with his dark curls and bright smile that reached his eyes making the corners of them wrinkle. When he was in a foul mood he could look rather imposing however.

"Damn it!" We heard John say behind us as we reached the door and walked out onto the street together. Sherlock pulled out a pair of leather gloves out of his coat pockets just as I took out the pair of soft, grey, woolen gloves that Mycroft had given me. It didn't take long for John to catch up to the both of us and fall into step beside me.

"Where are we going?" John asked us and I noted that he was leaning heavily on his cane again. I looked at Sherlock and pointed it out with my eyes. He nodded back to me in response letting me know he had seen it too.

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here," Sherlock answered him as I pulled my braid out and redid my bun. It made it much easier to keep it all piled up on the top of my head. It would be easier just to cut it, but I liked my hair at itss current length no matter how much a pain in the arse it could be.

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked us and I shook my head as I straightened out my hair.

"No, we think he's brilliant enough," I told John before Sherlock cut me off smiling expectantly.

"I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught," He said enthusiastically and I smiled sharing his excitement over the case. As much as I tried to say I didn't work cases any more, I was getting rather invested in this one.

"Why?" John asked us sounding confused.

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience," Sherlock remarked and I snorted at him. Was he describing the murderer or himself?

"Yeah," John said looking at him pointedly before his gaze turned to me. I pouted at him before sticking out my tongue like a child. Sherlock however remained oblivious to the implication and suddenly spun around to indicate the entire area as we continued down the road.

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything," Sherlock told us before I picked up for him as he slipped back into thought.

"All of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Bit strange if you ask me. You'd expect someone to make a scene if they were being abducted in order to get someone to notice yet no one, not one person, saw anything out of the ordinary," I said thoughtfully as Sherlock suddenly held his hands up on either side of his head as if he was trying to focus his thoughts.

"Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" Sherlock asked us as he paused and suddenly grabbed my shoulders looking right in my eyes.

"Dunno. Who?" John asked as he stopped beside us. We were getting rather strange looks from passersby and I suspected that if I looked up I would see Mycroft's camera trained on us. I stared back into Sherlock's excitement filled eyes as my arms hung limply by my sides.

"Haven't the faintest," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he released my shoulders and shrugged. "Hungry?" He asked us as he led us into the small restaurant we had stopped in front of.

Four impossible suicides and a murderer who seemed to be invisible. Not to mention meeting a man as interesting as Sherlock Holmes. I could understand now why Mycroft had never introduced us. Then, there was Dr. Watson. He interested me in many ways. An army doctor who missed the danger of the battle fields. It had been a long time since I had worked on a case. Nearly, four years. I had quit just after the last case I had worked on that had nearly cost me my life. It was time I got back to work though. I smiled at Sherlock knowingly as we entered the restaurant. The night was still young and there was a killer loose on the streets of London. This was already shaping up to be an interesting day and made for a very promising evening. To quote Sherlock, there was no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on


	7. Not My Area

(A/N)- In which Lexi and Sherlock have a very awkward conversation with John before running throughout London chasing a cab. Lexi wants me to remind everyone that she is not responsible for any typos in the chapter because Sherlock often is distracting her when she is writing them up and of course never points them out until after she's already posted it.

Hi all! It's KattieWatsonHolmes here, your humble author! So, excellent enough for all of you, I have the week off from my Uni classes. Why is this good news? Well I'll tell you why! You get another chapter on Wednesday and the conclusion of A Study in Pink next Friday. It is at this time that I would like to inform you that I am doing things differently than most Sherlock writers. I will be writing up cases in between each case to cover the time break instead of just saying a month later. So, there are four cases between A Study in Pink and The Blind Banker. I will try to make them as interesting as possible, but they are rather important for developing the growing relationship between Sherlock, Lexi, and John. The first case is not Sherlock heavy because Lexi takes the forefront in the case, but I assure you, once they stop working against each other, they will become the dynamic duo. Some of you may not like that I am doing this and some of you may. I like the idea though so I'm doing it. Some of the later cases will be adapted from cases that were only mentioned like The Geek Interpreter and The Speckled Blonde.

I wanted to inform you I have twenty- two pages of notes in hard copy of just the cases up to the third season, not even including the third season yet. No surprise that notes for A Scandal in Belgravia covers six pages of those twenty-two. I have a lot of plans, so I hope you stick around for the long hall. If you wanted a Sherlock story that is plot heavy and well really rather long and on going, look no further. I don't know how long it will take to get to season two, but I plan on just posting a chapter a week until I finish telling my story. Hold on tight kids, because this is when it gets complicated. Now that my long winded explanation is done, let us dive once more onto the breach.

**Song that inspired the chapter: It's Time by Imagine Dragons.**

* * *

Chapter Six- Not My Area

"**There are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world without them."**

― **Arthur Conan Doyle, The Red Headed League**

**Lexi's POV**

As we entered the restaurant, the waiter near the door clearly seemed to recognize Sherlock and immediately ran towards us, being altogether too eager to be helpful in my opinion. He gestured to a table at the front window, offering it to us. I observed that the waiter's eyes lingered far too long on me for just a causal interest as he greeted us. I decided to perform a slight experiment on him as I walked past him to sit at the table he offered us. I winked at him and then flashed him a flirty smile which caused him to blush. Hmm, not confident around woman. I deduced that he constantly strung out with women which was why he frequented gentleman's clubs often. There was a card in his pocket with a number written on it, the card being from a gentleman's club near the Strand.

"Thank you, Billy," Sherlock told the waiter offhandedly as he took his coat off and sat down on the side of the table not facing the window. He immediately turned sideways so that he could clearly see out of the window, ignoring us as he was lost in his detective mode. It was like one of those bad cop movies where the police held a stake out. The only difference was that instead of sitting in a police cruiser with coffee and donuts, we were sitting in an Italian restaurant.

John helped me out of my trench coat as "Billy" tried to see if we needed anything else. I told him no and waved him off. He sensed the change in my demeanor and looked at me oddly before he sidled away. John sat down in a chair across from Sherlock, facing the window, after he draped my coat over the back of my chair I slide into the seat next to Sherlock and looked around the restaurant with a smile of contentment on my face. It had been a while since I had last dined here. They had hired new waiters…I wasn't sure if I liked that or not yet.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it," Sherlock told us as he nodded at the building across the street. He kept his eyes trained on it as I snuck a peek across the road. It would look suspicious if we all looked at it at once. One person looking at something was not suspicious. Two people got to be more so as you could observe that there was more than just a passing interest in what you were looking at. Three people looking at something, well you might as well have a big sign on you that pointed out that you were deliberately looking for something.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad," John remarked sounding skeptical. I could see John's logic behind his thought, but I thought it more likely that the murderer would show up. He had already made one mistake by failing to see the woman's case. It stood to reason that that he might make an equally bad error by actually showing up where we wanted him to. I therefore couldn't help but laugh at his comment. It came out as a sort of snort before I covered it up with a chocking cough.

"He has killed four people John. I think you could rationally call him mad at this point," I pointed out as I played with the ends of my jumper. I flicked a piece of fuzz away from me and then folded my hands under my chin. I was glad that I decided to change before meeting back up with the boys. I quirked an eyebrow at John who was staring at me funnily. We had a tense staring contest for a few long seconds before he looked away. I smirked in triumph as John shook his head at me in exasperation. Yeah, I had that effect on people. Mycroft was right, I always did make a lasting impression upon people. Was it my good looks, my charm, my winning personality perhaps? Nah, I was just awesome.

"... Okay," John said as the owner of the restaurant came over to our table. He looked pleased to Sherlock so I deduced that Sherlock had a reputation here as well. I smiled joyfully after seeing the man. Angelo, the owner of the restaurant was an old acquaintance of mine and I considered him a friend.

"Sherlock," Angelo said as both men shook hands. It was then that Angelo swept his eyes over the table, looking at who Sherlock's companions were. Well that supported my theory that he normally went everywhere alone. When Angelo finally saw me he let out a cry of delight that seemed to startled John and Sherlock.

"Alexandria! Alexia that cannot be you," Angelo said as I got up from my seat and gave the man a hug. I laughed as Angelo pulled back from our hug and held onto my shoulders as he looked me over. "Why have you not come in so long?" Angelo asked me sounding slightly put out.

"I'm sorry il mio amico, (my friend) I've been keeping myself busy lately. I haven't found a moment to get away," I apologized and the man beamed at my use of his native language. I really hadn't been able to find a moment to get away lately. Mycroft kept giving me something to do to save me from boredom. Either that or just so he would know where I was. I believed that latter rather than the former was true.

"Ah, but back to solving cases I see. You have that look in your eyes again. And how did you meet Sherlock mia bella?" (My beautiful) Angelo asked me curiously. I laughed, knowing Angelo was right. I felt better, happier, than I had in a long time. There was just this feeling I got when working on a case, a sort of excitement, a high of adrenalin. I didn't even have to ask Sherlock to know that he felt the same way.

"Mutual friends introduced us though it appears our meeting was inevitable," I told Angelo cryptically as I sat back down next to Sherlock who was now studying me closely. "By the way thanks Sherlock, I had to see him more today than in the last few weeks. The black car is a little much," I complained as John snapped his head around looking at me with an expression of surprise on his face. Sherlock shrugged, not all too interested in the fact that his brother had kidnapped me. "Yeah, you're not the only one who went for a little ride," I told John with a huff before turning back to Angelo who was watching me with an amused expression. "Anyway, yeah, I met Sherlock," I told Angelo with a grin.

"It is good to see you again Alexia, you must come more often and bring that friend of yours along. Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free," Angelo told us in a hushed voice, raising his finger to his lips in a secretive gesture before he laid a couple of menus out on the table. I smiled but rather doubted that I would be able to convince Mycroft to eat here. I loved Angelo's, but Mycroft was too posh to eat in anything but a five star restaurant. "On the house, for you two and for your date, I make it for you myself," Angelo continued in a conspiratorial whisper as he looked between John and Sherlock. I giggled as John turned red. I loved how everyone was just assuming that John and Sherlock were together rather than John and me or Sherlock and me. Then again, Angelo was of the impression that Mycroft was my boyfriend ever since I answered one of his calls while eating.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked us. I nodded to him in response. I couldn't remember exactly when it was I had last eaten. I had tea before I left my flat this morning, but after that I had finished up some experiments and then had gone to meet up with Sherlock and John at the flat. After that it had been running around for hours for the case. It was one of those days again. It wasn't that I didn't eat, I did. I just forgot…a lot. When I got invested in doing something, hours could pass before I finally realized the time. It used to be worse when I was working cases. Mycroft would kidnap me for dinner every so often, if anything just to make sure I ate at least once a week.

"I'm not his date," John told Angelo through slightly clenched teeth. I patted his knee underneath the table causing him to jump at the sudden contact. I looked at him pointedly and gave him a little sheepish smile. He looked back at me as if he wasn't sure what to make of me just yet. Good, I wanted to keep him on his toes, keep him guessing.

"This man got me off a murder charge," Angelo told John as he leaned down holding Sherlock's shoulders. I was surprised to see Sherlock smirk slightly instead of shaking the man off. Doesn't mind contact from people he knows and likes, I added to the mental list I was compiling.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduced as Angelo offered his hand out to John. John shook his hand, but I could tell he was still slightly irritated by being called Sherlock's date. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name," Angelo pointed out and I giggled. I knew for a fact that Angelo had actually done some time. I had met Angelo about a year before hand. We got to chatting as he said I reminded him of a friend of his who I now understood to be Sherlock. Angelo knew of my past working with Scotland Yard and some of the reasons why I had stopped working cases.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?" Sherlock asked Angelo who shook his head as he briefly glanced across the street.

"Nothing," Angelo answered him as he looked at John again before continuing. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Sherlock pointed out and I shook my head before glancing out at the street. It was quiet across the street, for now at least. I had a feeling that things weren't going to stay quiet for too long. Our murderer was bound to show up. Suddenly you get a text from someone that has to be your victim. Naturally, your first instinct would be to panic. You would want to stake out the meet up point, see if it was a police trick or really that the person you tried to kill was actually still alive. Lestrade was being smart by not letting out that they had found another body yet.

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic," Angelo said to John before looking at me. "And I'll bring you a glass of that Sangria you like."

"Cheers!" I told him with a grin as I picked up my menu and started reading it over quickly. I gazed over the top of my menu and Sherlock and John, catching Sherlock's eye. We stared back at each other for a few long seconds before he looked away back out the window.

"I'm not his date!" John called tetchily as Angelo walked away. Sherlock put the menu he had been looking over down on the table. So, he wasn't going to be eating. That wasn't going to stop me, I loved Angelo's food.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait," Sherlock told John and me as he turned and glanced out of the window again, his eyes flickering from person to person as he deduced each in turn. It was interesting to see how his mind worked. He was so quick with his deductions, so sure of himself. He was used to being right, being the smartest person in the room. Well, this would turn out to be interesting. I had a feeling that living with Sherlock and John would be, for lack of a better word, interesting. Beyond the fact that I would be living with two men, I was living with an ex-army doctor and a consulting detective. At least life wouldn't be boring. Of course just because Sherlock consulted for the police did not mean that I was suddenly going to start working cases again. This was a onetime thing, I told myself firmly. I was just doing a favor for Lestrade and once this case was over I was going to stay out of the cases Sherlock worked.

"So, are you going to eat?" John asked us, bringing me back to reality, as he skimmed over his menu. I glanced down at mine deciding on something at random. Everything was good here and my brain was going here, there, and everywhere.

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked John without bothering to turn around.

"It's Wednesday," John answered him in confusion. I grinned sitting back in my chair and studied Sherlock's profile. So, he was as bad as me when it came to eating. That added to the profile I was starting to make of him. For once I had to make deductions based on information I learned instead of understanding everything at a first glance. I sort of liked it. It was maddening yes, but I liked the challenge, that I had to actually get to know Sherlock in order to "get to know" him.

"I'm okay for a bit," Sherlock answered him disinterestedly as if he barely even thought about it. I glanced out the window quickly, my eyes darting around the faces of those milling about the opposite side of the street. No one fit the profile of our killer just yet, but the night was still relatively young.

"You haven't eaten today?" John asked him and Sherlock made a sound of agreement. "For God's sake, you need to eat!" John protested and I shook my head with a rueful smile on my face. There would be no arguing with him, he was as stubborn as his brother if not more so. Mycroft was a hard man to persuade and I had known if for a lot longer than Sherlock, I doubted I would be able to persuade Sherlock to eat something even if I argued with him until I was blue in the face.

"No, you need to eat. I need to think. The brain's what counts. Everything else is transport," Sherlock shot back and I snorted and rolled my eyes. John frowned at him as Angelo came back with a small glass bowl with a lit tea-light candle in it. He put it onto the center of the table before placing a glass of the house made Sangria down in front of me. He gave John a thumbs up and sent me a smile before he walked away, leaving us to our awkward not really a conversation again.

"Thanks!" John shot a little grumpily at Angelo's retreating form. I giggled and John looked back at me staring icily.

"You know if I had known you two were on a date I would have invited a friend of mine," I said giggling again as John's glare grew steadily icier. Sherlock however was smirking beside me seemingly unfazed by the implications people keep making about him and John. I knew that he didn't actually care, he was like Mycroft in that regard. "I'm just teasing you John," I told John to pacify him. I leaned forward and blew out the candle as a sign of good will before I picked up my wine glass. I saluted John with it before taking a small sip, savoring the taste. Fruity notes of pure alcoholic joy.

"Interesting, you drink, but stay away from nicotine," Sherlock said suddenly as I held my glass in my hand in a rather posh manner. I swirled the contents of my glass around as I raised one eyebrow at Sherlock and snorted.

"I don't drink that often, don't let my Irish heritage lead you to the wrong deduction," I told Sherlock as I pointedly took another sip of my drink. I didn't drink often. Occasionally I would go the pub for some Guinness, but I always left it at one drink and never got drunk. I didn't like how my brain felt slow if I drank too much. A slight buzz was relaxing and a good thing for quieting my mind a bit on occasion, but I didn't like having to struggle to think straight. I grinned back at Sherlock as I put my glass down, knowing that he was, like me, struggling to make his deductions.

"Your Irish then?" John asked me seeming to have gotten over my teasing. He would have to get used to it because if we ended up living together there would be a lot more opportunities to tease him in the future. It was hard not to when he was such an easy target.

"Aye," I said as I let a little of my accent slip in so that I now had an Irish lithe to my British accent. "Ar ndóigh," (Obviously) I said in my native language with a little smirk. John smiled back completely oblivious as to what I had said. Sherlock seemed to catch on and smirked. Angelo came back over to our table with a grin on his face, ready to take our order personally.

John and I ordered something to eat, but Sherlock didn't order anything, no surprise there. We continued on making small talk for a while which mostly involved John and I talking with Sherlock cutting in with a comment every so often as he continued to steal glances across the street. I set my wine glass down on the table in such a way that it reflected what was going on across the street in the glass. We got our food and started eating as Sherlock's attention was fixed out of the window. He was quietly drumming his fingers on the table which was beginning to get annoying. I grabbed his hand and he looked back it me, his eyes wide for just a second before he regained his composure.

"Stop, you're driving me insane," I told him as I let go of his hand and picked my fork up again.

"Not far of a drive then," Sherlock commented as he turned back to the window and resumed drumming his fingers on the table, probably just to annoy me.

"I'm not kidding, this is not my kidding face. You see it?" I asked as I gestured to my face with my hand, pulling my impression of Mycroft. "Keep it up and I will stab you with my fork," I warned him as I pointed at him threateningly with my fork. He looked back at me over his shoulder and only shrugged. I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned in slightly closer, starting a staring contest with him.

"People don't have arch-enemies," John suddenly cut in as he took a bite of his chicken parmesan. It took a long moment before Sherlock finally looked away from me and at him. I stared at Sherlock for a second longer before I sat back in my chair and violently stabbed one of my raviolis, popping it in my mouth and chewing it. Sherlock and John looked back at me and I only looked down at Sherlock's hand since he was still drumming his fingers on the table. He sighed as if the act of stopping was physically challenging. Thankfully for him he decided not to test me. I wasn't kidding, I honestly would stab him with a fork.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked him, ignoring me completely now. I snorted, as if that was even possible.

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen," John said as he looked across the table at me and raised an eyebrow. I knew that this conversation was going to be brought up again. Oh, just wait until he found out who Mycroft actually was. Oh my God, his face! I had to be there when he found out for nothing else except to see his face. It was going to be priceless. Maybe I could get the video footage from Mycroft.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull," Sherlock said disinterestedly as he looked out of the window again. I took a bite of my cheese ravioli and chewed it as I contemplated exactly what we could tell John that would pacify his interest in Mycroft for the current moment.

"So who did I meet?" John asked us. I continued to make it look like I was chewing. Mycroft was Sherlock's brother, he could take the bullet on this one. Mycroft was just my self-appointed nanny. I liked to see him as Mary Poppins.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock asked John sounding slightly condescending as he completely ignored John's question. I took another sip of my Sangria, happy just to sit back and let them have their little moment. It had been apparent to me that John had been wanting to ask these questions for a while. I had a perfect front row seat to watch this conversation crash and burn.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends..." John said before Sherlock cut him off.

"Yes, well, as I was saying…dull," Sherlock said and I rolled my eyes at him again. I had a total of twelve friends if you could now count Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson amongst that count. Friends was a rather loose term that I used. Angelo was a rather good acquaintance of mine, but my closest friend still lived in Edinburgh where we both went to University together.

"So…d'you have a girlfriend who feeds you up sometimes?" John asked him curiously as he looked down at his plate before up at Sherlock who was looking back at him exasperatedly.

"Is that what girlfriends do, feed you up?" Sherlock scoffed with irritation before he glanced out of the window again. This was almost too funny to watch. I casually sipped at my drink, thanking whatever deity that brought the three of us together. This was infinitely more interesting than spending a night alone in my flat.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John asked him. I hid my smile by looking out of the window. This was going to be rather interesting. If Sherlock was anything like his brother, he didn't do relationships. Mycroft was as married to his work as Sherlock seemed to be. The only person that came close to being Mycroft's girlfriend was Anthea and she really didn't count.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area," Sherlock said as he continued to look out of the window. I looked back at John who didn't seem really surprised by Sherlock's response.

"Mm," John hummed in agreement. A long, awkward moment passed before I saw a flash of surprise in John's eyes as he seemed to realize the possible significance of Sherlock's statement. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" John asked him and I snorted sharply, almost spitting my sip of Sangria out. Of course he had to go and say something like that just after I had taken a sip. I managed to swallow my Sangria, but it went down the wrong pipe and I started coughing. John patted me on the back as I coughed and laughed at the same time. I managed to regain my composure, wiping a few tears away that had come out from me laughing so hard. Sherlock looked at John sharply finally being broken out of his staring contest with the street. "Which is fine, by the way," John added, still looking at me like I was absolutely mental.

"I know its fine," Sherlock told him quickly looking slightly uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed. I loved how this conversation went from asking who Mycroft was to asking Sherlock if he had a girlfriend. John smiled seemingly to indicate that he wasn't signifying anything negative by what he said.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?" John asked him again and it was a test of my will that I was able to keep in the giggle that was threatening to burst from my lips. He was killing me.

"No."

"What about you then Lexi?" John asked suddenly turning the conversation around to me, if anything to avoid having to look at Sherlock. "Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend maybe? 'Cos that's all fine you know," John continued as I picked up my Sangria again. I needed a lot more to drink, this was so awkward. Sherlock watched me with more interest than before. Oh so he didn't like it when it was him, but when it was someone else he got all interested. Figures.

"Not my division," I answered him with a grin as I remembered all the times Lestrade had said that to me before I took another sip of my drink and set it down. I was starting to feel slightly more relaxed thanks to the alcohol that Angelo probably knew I needed. Dealing with Mycroft and Sherlock in one day was slightly nerve racking.

"Right. Okay," John said still smiling, though his smile seemed to become a little fixed and awkward. "You're unattached. Like me," John said as he looked down at his plate. He seemed to be rapidly running out of things to say. "Fine," He continued as he cleared his throat. "Good," He finished before he continued eating. Sherlock and I looked at each other before we both looked at John suspiciously for a moment. Sherlock turned his attention out of the window again for a long moment before he looked back at me looking a little startled.

"John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any...," Sherlock said turning his head towards John again. He spoke rather awkwardly but rapidly speed up until he was almost babbling by the time John interrupted him.

"No," John said as he interrupted him quickly. He turned his head briefly to clear his throat. "No, I'm not asking. No," He finished as he fixed his gaze onto Sherlock's, apparently trying to convey the sincerity of his words. "I'm just saying, it's all fine," John told him and Sherlock looked at him for a moment before nodding.

"Good. Thank you," Sherlock told him before he turned his attention back to the street. John looked back at me with a bemused expression on his face that seemed to ask me 'What the heck was all that about?!' I smiled at him cheekily just as Sherlock nodded out of the window.

"Look across the street. Taxi," Sherlock told us. John twisted in his seat to look out of the window where there was a taxi parked at the side of the road with its back end towards the restaurant. "Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out," Sherlock continued as I watched the male passenger in the rear seat of the taxi looking through the side windows as if he was trying to see somebody particular. "Why a taxi?" He asked me before he scrunched his face up in thought. "Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock said to himself before looking up at me for an answer.

"That's him?" John asked us as he continued to stare at the taxi. I kicked him underneath the table in his good leg. He yelped in surprise and turned around to look at me affronted.

"Don't stare, you're going to draw too much attention to us," I hissed at John in a whisper as I used my glass to reflect what was going on across the street. No one was getting into the taxi. Why a taxi? Sherlock made a good point.

"You're staring," John pointed out as he rubbed his leg. I felt bad for kicking him but we were going to get noticed if he didn't stop making it obvious that we were the ones who were watching the street.

"We can't all stare and besides, I'm watching through a reflection in my glass," I told John as Sherlock suddenly got to his feet grabbing his coat and scarf as he headed for the door. I was up a second after him, pulling my jacket on as I walked. Thinking of this like a game of chess, our opponent had already made their move and now it was our turn.

John picked up his own jacket and followed out after us hurriedly. I noted that he forgot to take his walking cane with him. I nodded at Sherlock as he shrugged himself into his coat while he kept his eyes fixed on the taxi. I looked across the street where the passenger continued to look around him before he turned and looked out the back window of the cab. His gaze fell on the restaurant and then on us and he stared back for a few moments while Sherlock and I just stared back at him. This was like the strangest Mexican standoff I had ever seen before. I could already hear the music in my head. Suddenly the man turned towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi began to pull away from the curb. Sherlock immediately headed towards the cab without bothering to check the road that he was running out into. It was no surprise that he was almost run over by a car coming from his left. The driver slammed on the brakes and stopped the car in time but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route as it seemed, allowed his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. He rolled over the bonnet, landing on his feet on the other side and then ran after the taxi. I carried off after him taking the same path he had over the bonnet. I giggled as I vaulted off of the hood and broke into a run after Sherlock. I was glad I was wearing my running boots. The driver of the car angrily sounded his horn as John put one hand on the bonnet and vaulted over the front of the car after me as he followed us. He apologized to the driver as he went. I laughed loudly at the fact that he was worried about apologize at a time like this.

"Sorry," John shouted behind me as we chased after Sherlock. I was the first to catch up with him as he had only run a few yards up the road before he realized, like I had, that we were never going to catch the taxi. We both slowed to a halt which gave John the time to catch up with us. He stopped beside us sounding slightly breathless. "I've got the cab number," John told us sounding proud of himself.

"Good for you," Sherlock quipped as he brought his hands up to either side of his head and made what I now deemed his thinking face. I wanted to make a comment about concentrating and orange juice, but I refrained from doing so and opted to instead do something productive. It was possible that we could still catch the taxi if we were smart. I took out my phone and unlocked it before opening an app I had gotten from Mycroft. Well actually I had lifted it off of him or more correctly off of Anthea. From one app I could not only control all of the traffic lights, but if needed I could also hack into cameras or truly anything that Mycroft had the power to control. The best part was the map that came with it with the current traffic situations. As long as I was careful and didn't use it too much, Mycroft would never find out that I had something I shouldn't. I brought up the surrounding street maps along with all the information on traffic lights, current traffic conditions, bus lanes, road work that was going on, and best of all a link to all the CCTVs in the surrounding area. I quickly calculated the path the taxi was most likely to take.

"Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights," Sherlock said in rapid succession. He lifted his head and I caught his line of sight as he looked at a man who was unlocking a door to a nearby building. Sherlock looked back at me for a brief moment and we shared a look of understanding before we both raced towards the man. Sherlock grabbed him and shoved him out of the way before charging into the building with me falling into step just behind him.

"Oi!" The man shouted as Sherlock and I raced past him. John hurried after the both of us raising an apologetic hand to the man as he went.

"Sorry," I called over my shoulder as Sherlock and I raced up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape staircase which lead to the roof. Sherlock and I took the steps two and even three at a time. I looked back to see that John was struggling to keep up with us. Sherlock seemed to notice the same thing I had.

"Come on, John," He called back urgently as we reached the top of the stairs.

Sherlock and I ran to the edge and looked over before we spotted a shorter metal spiral staircase that lead down the side of the building to another door one floor lower. Sherlock quickly descended the stairs and climbed onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building. I kept moving and made the jump following closely behind Sherlock. He steadied me on the other side before we ran to the other side of the roof. The next jump looked a lot wider than the first. Sherlock and I shared a look and then he grabbed my hand in his own. I was slightly surprised by the gesture, but it was not unwelcomed. We looked forward across the gap and I took a deep breath before jumping with Sherlock across the gap. We were airborne for a good while before our feet landed on the other side. I let out a delighted laugh and whooped as I looked back across the gap. I watched as John come skidding to a halt as he seemed to realize that the gap might be too wide for him to jump given his "bad' leg. I watched as he hesitated and looked down at the drop beneath him. We had to keep moving or we were going to lose the taxi. John needed to make this jump though, not only if he wanted to follow us, but because he needed to make this jump to overcome his thoughts that he couldn't because of his leg. I knew he could make the jump. He had been in the army. He was physically fit and could make this jump if he finally stopped thinking that he couldn't because of his leg.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock called across to John as he looked between John and the roof tops. I knew he was considering leaving him behind so he wouldn't lose the taxi. I squeezed his hand which was still in mine and he snapped his head towards me.

"He can do this, he needs to do this," I told Sherlock quietly. He nodded in response and I looked across to John. "Come on John!" I called to him in encouragement. He looked away from the fall and up at me before he backed up a few paces and braced himself. He took a run up before leaping across the gap. He stumbled a little on the other side and I steadied him before taking his hand and letting go of Sherlock's. The encouragement of a woman always was a good motivator.

Sherlock dropped down onto a walkway along the side of the building and John followed him, but I paused. It was a little higher than I expected it to be. John looked back up at me with a smile and I growled a little under my breath. "Oh shut up," I called down to him. His smile grew steadily smugger. I dropped down onto the walkway and John caught me by the waist and steadied me as I stumbled.

"I didn't say anything," He said still smiling smugly. I wasn't afraid of heights, this wasn't my first time jumping around the rooftops of London. I did however have a bad experience jumping off of what I thought was only a short drop once which ended with me spraining my ankle badly. I narrowed my eyes at John as I ran past him and caught back up with Sherlock. I heard John chuckle behind us as he started following after us again. Sherlock, the smug bastard, shot me an amused look as I ran beside him, my hair flying behind me. We exited the alleyway onto D'Arblay Street, which the taxi was just turning into. We were good. The three of us turned the corner and raced down the last part of the alley only to watch as the taxi drove past the end of it, heading to the left.

"Ah, no!" Sherlock shouted angrily as we raced out of the end of the alley and turned right. "This way," Sherlock said as we continued on. We looked back over our shoulders only to see that John had instinctively turned left in pursuit of the taxi. "No, this way!" Sherlock called back to John again.

"Sorry," John apologized as he turned and headed back in the opposite direction following us again.

I checked my phone as I ran after Sherlock and traced the most likely route that the taxi would take. I chose a new point where we could intercept the cab. I showed my phone to Sherlock who nodded in response agreeing with my choice. We ran down the shorter route, heading down more alleyways and side streets towards the interception point in the middle of Wardour Street. Sherlock and I raced out of a side street and we hurled ourselves right into the path of the approaching taxi. It screeched to a halt as Sherlock crashed hard into the bonnet. I winced before skidding to a stop just behind him. That had to have hurt, at least a little bit. Sherlock scrabbled in his left coat pocket as he made his way around the bonnet. He pulled out an I.D. badge which he flashed at the driver.

"Police! Open her up!" Sherlock demanded as we panted heavily. He tugged open the rear door and stared in at the passenger, who looked back at him anxiously. Instantly Sherlock straightened up in exasperation just as John joined us. I saw the reason behind his exasperation, this was not our murderer. "No," He said as he leaned down again and did a once over the passenger for a second time. "Teeth, tan, what?" He asked me as he turned back briefly to look at me to make it clear that he was directing this question towards me.

"Californian?" I supplied as I read the luggage tag on the bag at the passengers feet. "Yup…California. Los Angeles. Santa Monica to be precise. He just arrived," I finished as I straightened up beside Sherlock. He nodded at me also straightening with a grimace on his face.

"How can you possibly know that?" John asked me sounding completely amazed. I didn't think I would ever get tired of John's amazement. It was different to have someone actually impressed for a change rather than pissed off.

"The luggage," Sherlock answered him as he looked down at the suitcase on the floor of the cab, showing it to John. Its luggage label showed that the man had flown from the Los Angeles International Airport to the London Heathrow Airport. This was the part I loved about doing what I did. Anyone could have made the deduction I had, but people would often see but not observe. Take for instance the fact that you could be living your entire life without observing different things about yourself. Such as are your earlobes connected or do they hang? When meeting someone, what colour eyes do they have? You look right at them, most people looking them in the eye as they talk, but can later not even tell you what colour that person's eyes were. Deductions were simple when you started observing instead of just seeing. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock said to the passenger who looked rather confused, but still slightly nervous.

"Sorry…are you guys the police?" The passenger asked us as I pulled out an I.D. badge similar to Sherlock's from the inside of my jacket.

"Yeah," I answered him as Sherlock and I flashed our badges at him briefly. "Everything all right?" I asked him smiling at him widely. Charm could work wonders, especially when you were in a bad situation, such like the one we were in now. The man winked at me flirtingly and thankfully I mustered enough self-control to not roll my eyes at him.

"Yeah," The passenger said still flirting with me or at least attempting to. I stole a glance at Sherlock who was smirking. He suddenly smiled falsely at the man.

"Welcome to London," Sherlock said before the both of us immediately walked away, leaving John staring blankly for a moment before he stepped closer to the taxi door and looked in at the passenger.

I watched as John paused for a second at the door. "Er, any problems, just let us know," He told the passenger. The man nodded and John smiled at him politely before slamming the cab door shut. John walked back to where Sherlock and I had stopped a few yard behind the vehicle to wait for him. I watched as the passenger winked at me again before turning to the taxi driver in bewilderment.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," John said as he rejoined us. I smiled at him. He was trying to make deductions too. Hmm, maybe I could teach him a few things.

"Basically," I told John with a laugh as I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets. It was getting steadily colder out. It was getting later and later and we still hadn't found a lead yet. I knew that Sherlock would work through the night. That was completely fine with me. My insomnia had been extremely bad lately and when I had used to work cases I normally wouldn't stop for rest until I had solved them.

"Not the murderer," John said and I nodded at him as I shivered. A nice cup of tea and curling up in Sherlock's chair in front of the fire sounded really good right now. Sherlock's grumblings of me being in his chair wouldn't even be enough to get me to move an inch.

"Not the murderer, no," Sherlock told him sounding exasperated. I snorted and rolled my eyes. Did he have to be so condescending all the time? Oy vey, he was as bad as Mycroft. Seriously thought, would it kill the man to smile every so often? He looked like he was trying to eat a lemon all the time.

"Wrong country, good alibi," John continued seemingly not noticing that he should quit while he was ahead.

"As they go," Sherlock said as he switched his I.D. card from one hand to the other.

"Hey, where…where did you get these? Here," He demanded as he reached for our cards. Sherlock released his without putting up a fight, but I reluctantly handed mine over. "Right," John said as he read the names on the cards. "Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sargent Donovan?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat," Sherlock told him seeming nonchalant as he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. If he could have one I could too.

"I nicked that off of Donovan when I hugged her earlier," I told John with a shrug. He nodded and then looked down at the cards again before lifting his head and giggling silently.

"What?" Sherlock asked him curiously as I cocked my head to the side.

"Nothing, just: "Welcome to London"," John told us. Sherlock and I laughed together his deep baritone mixing with my high soprano. We looked down the road when we heard a noise to find that a police officer had apparently gone to investigate why three people stopped the cab in the middle of the road. The passenger was out of the car and was pointing down the road towards the three of us. That was are cue to hightail in out of there.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked John as we looked back at the army man. The both of us were smiling knowingly. John had forgotten his cane back in Angelo's in his haste to rush after us. Someone didn't have a limp now, in fact he was walking perfectly.

"Ready when you are," John told us. I threw back my head in a laugh as I bolted off down the road without the boys. I loved running through the streets of London. I missed this. I looked up and watched as the CCTV cameras followed me. Mycroft had his cameras set on me, watching my progression through the city. The heavy footfalls behind me were the only evidence that Sherlock and John had taken off after me. I was a good distance a head of them though so I rather doubted that they would catch up. I sent a thumbs up to the nearest CCTV camera and watched as there was a flash and my picture was taken. I laughed again as my hair flew behind me, probably becoming a tangled mess. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. This was no longer just a one case thing. As much as I could argue with myself that I was only taking this case, I knew that that was not the truth. I was just the same as I was before and I was never changing who I am. I, Lexi MacKenna, consulting detective extraordinaire, was back and London had better be ready for me.


	8. It's A Drugs Bust Mrs Hudson

**(A/N) Seventy followers, oh my stars I love you all, cheers! I seriously never expected this, thank you all for all of your support. Also, g****lad to see so many of you on the Facebook pages! **Again, Lexi wants me to point out she is not responsible for any grammatical errors. In this chapter, we have the drugs bust and a bit of a surprise towards the end. Virtual cookies to whoever saw it coming and can guess what it means for the future of this story. Currently working on another own case set of chapters, just you wait, this is going to be fantastic! -KattieWatsonHolmes

**Song that inspired the chapter: Outta My System by My Morning Jacket. I do recommend listening to these songs because they tell a story about Lexi and Sherlock along with the story.**

* * *

Chapter 7: It's A Drugs Bust Mrs. Hudson

**"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius." **  
**― Arthur Conan Doyle,**_**The Valley of Fear ** _

**_Lexi's POV_**

I slowed my pace as I neared Baker Street and the boys caught up with me, their faces flushed from the cold and exercise. We ran side by side the last few blocks looking to the world like a trio of crazy people. Pedestrians jumped out of our way as we darted down streets and cut through back alleys. We got back to the flat and Sherlock unlocked the door, the three of us walking into the hallway of Baker Street breathing heavily. John took off his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall while Sherlock draped his coat over the bottom of the bannisters. He turned back to me and helped me slip out of my coat before throwing it over his own. I pulled off my scarf and flicked it at Sherlock with a laugh before draping in over the bannister. This new found companionship we had slipped into was nice. It seemed like I had always known John and Sherlock at this point.

"Okay, that was ridiculous," John panted as the three of us leaned side by side against the wall still trying to catch our breath. I was in the middle of the boys, shoulder to shoulder with the both of them. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"Says the man who invaded Afghanistan," I pointed out with a breathless laugh. John giggled in a very adorable way and after a moment Sherlock joined us in our laughter.

"That wasn't just me," John panted and Sherlock and I chuckled again. My heart rate started to calm down as I heard my phone buzz in my coat pocket. I groaned and pushed off of the wall before going over to dig out my phone. Mycroft had texted me a slightly blurry picture of me running through London with an expression of delight on my face.

"_**Welcome back…I must say my brother and the good doctor seem to be good for you." **_

"_**Good to be back Croft. Do you think it would be possible to get my old stuff back? I know I gave it over to you before, but I think I might need it," **_I texted back as I listened to John and Sherlock with a grin on my face. I just couldn't get that feeling to go away, the feeling of elation.

"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John asked Sherlock sounding slightly confused.

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway," Sherlock told him, becoming more serious and waving his hand dismissively. I looked over my shoulder at the boys and rolled my eyes fondly at them. Of course he would take us out and lead a chase throughout London without even believing our murder was going to show up in the first place. I couldn't complain though, I had gotten dinner out of it and I had gotten to know the both of them better.

"So what were we doing there?" John asked him still sounding confused. My phone buzzed again and I smiled as I read the text Mycroft had sent in response.

"_**I'll have it all sent over tonight." **_

Sherlock cleared his throat before responding to John. "Oh, just passing the time," He said as he looked up at me. I smiled at John mischievously as I texted Mycroft back a picture of Sherlock I had taken while John was distracting him with questions.

"And proving a point," I said knowingly as Mycroft sent me back a text saying he might have to frame the picture because Sherlock was actually smiling for once.

"What point?" John asked me and I giggle as I texted Mycroft that someone should call the press. He seemed rather fond of the idea, but told me he settled on just sending it on to their mother. I laughed at that quietly, Sherlock would most likely be hearing from Mummy Holmes about that soon enough. I had never met Mycroft and well, Sherlock's mother, in person, but I had talked to her before over the phone when Mycroft was talking to her in his office. I wanted to meet her, but Mycroft had refused this idea profusely. I actually adored Mummy Holmes and she seemed to like me. She said I was good for Mycroft.

"You," Sherlock answered John as he turned and called loudly towards the door to Mrs Hudson's flat. "Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson and Lexi will take the rooms upstairs."

"Says who?" John and I asked at the same time. John sounded skeptical, but I asked it as a joke. I beamed at Sherlock, my tongue between my teeth. He was learning quickly that I disliked being called Ms. MacKenna.

"Says the man at the door," Sherlock answered him, ignoring my comment, as the three of us looked towards the door. I didn't have to ask how Sherlock knew I was going to take the room upstairs. I knew he could have deduced that fact and I knew that he knew I was back to solving cases. This was the kick I needed to get back into the game. When you walked with Sherlock Holmes…for John he saw the battlefield, for me…I saw the life I used to have. John turned his head towards the door just as someone knocked on it three times. He turned back to look at Sherlock and I in surprise. We smiled at him as our only answer and I nodded towards the door encouragingly. John stared at us for a moment, then walked along the hall to answer the door. Sherlock leaned his head against the wall and blew out a breath as John opened the door and found Angelo standing outside.

"Sherlock texted me," Angelo said as he smiled knowingly and held up John's walking cane. "He said you forgot this," He continued as John stared at the cane in surprise before taking it. Sherlock and I took a second to look at each other and share a triumphant grin.

"Ah," John said as he turned and looked down the hall at Sherlock and me. We grinned back at him smugly. John turned back to Angelo who was waiting. "Er, thank you. Thank you," John told him and Angelo nodded before looking past John and smiling at me.

"Felice di vedere si torna in gioco," He told me with a grin. (Glad to see you back in the game) I laughed as I shook my head at Angelo.

"Sono contento di essere tornato mio amico," I responded before he waved to me and left. (Glad to be back my friend) John came back inside and closed the door as Mrs Hudson came out of her flat and hurried over to the three of us.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs Hudson asked sounding upset and tearful. I looked up the stairs at Sherlock's and, well, now my flat. The door was closed but I could see people moving around as people blocked out the light flooding out from under the door. This was going to be interesting, very interesting.

"Mrs Hudson?' Sherlock asked her confused as to why she was upset. I was quiet sure I wasn't going to like what I found up there either. I had a feeling that I knew who was up there and if I was right this was not going to end well for Sherlock or me.

"_**You might need to bail me out of jail tonight,"**_ I texted Mycroft quickly. His response came in a second later. Any mention of jail, drugs, or anything else he considered serious enough always granted me an immediate response.

"_**What is it?"**_ Mycroft's text read. I could read a lot of different things in that simple response. One he was worried about me due to his short reply and two he really did care.

"_**People are in my flat and I can guess who. I might be booked for assaulting a police officer,"**_ I texted him back quickly. His response was instantaneous as if he had been waiting for my text to come through. I knew he actually had been. Mycroft and I had a system put in place. If I was going to do something stupid I would text him first. If it was serious, it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, he would always be there five minutes later.

"_**If you feel you must. Try to restrain yourself. The paperwork would be astronomical,"**_ Mycroft texted back and I could tell that he had sighed after reading my last text. I wasn't in immediate danger, just probably about to get severely pissed off. I wasn't entirely kidding though, he might actually have to come bail me out of jail. That would be a lovely first impression upon John and Sherlock. I didn't think Sherlock would mind if I assaulted a police officer, but John might. For his sake, I would try to control my temper.

"Upstairs," I heard Mrs. Hudson tell Sherlock as I looked up from my phone. Sherlock turned and hurried up the stairs with me just a step behind him. John followed behind us as I shoved my phone into my back pocket. Sherlock opened the living room door and the two of us walked in. We found Lestrade sitting casually in Sherlock's armchair and other police officers were going through Sherlock's possessions. Sherlock stormed over to Lestrade as my eyes scanned the room looking for one thing that I didn't find, my case bag. I growled angrily as I walked up to Lestrade and stood beside Sherlock with clenched fists. There was one thing that they had no right to go through and that was my case bag. First of all, I didn't technically live here yet and second of all Lestrade had no right to go through my stuff.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock spat at him. Hmm that was where Sherlock and I differed. By now I would have already used a few colourful words. I was beyond livid to put it lightly and that was because I knew where this was headed.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid," Lestrade told him grinning smugly. I narrowed my eyes at him. I didn't care what his reasons were, I wanted to know where my bloody case bag was. There was something in there that was private and if they had gone through it…well let's just say my joke wouldn't be a joke anymore.

"You can't just break into my flat,' Sherlock said through clenched teeth as John walked into the room behind us.

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat," Lestrade pointed out. Oh clever Greg, real clever.

"Well, what do you call this then?" Sherlock asked him as he waved his arm around gesturing to the people invading his sanctuary.

Lestrade looked round at his officers before looking back at Sherlock innocently. "It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" John scoffed behind us. Oh not good. Sherlock turned and walked closer to John, biting his lip nervously. Not good, very not good. Damn you Lestrade!

"John..." He tried but John just cut him off and didn't let him finish.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational," John said to Lestrade. I decided to try and help Sherlock out of this.

"John, you probably want to shut up now. Actually, I would shut up now," I told him as I walked closer to Sherlock and put a hand on his arm comfortingly. I knew what he was going through and I knew that he was trying to make a good impression with John. This was most certainly something he didn't want him to know and I didn't want John to know about my own addictions either. I thought he would shake off my hand, Mycroft was never one for human contact and I expected Sherlock to be the same way, but he just looked down at it before looking up at me scanning my face. I knew he was trying to deduce my motives behind the action. He seemed pleased with what he found as he looked back at John.

"Yeah, but come on..."John said faltering as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. "No," He said suddenly.

"What?" Sherlock asked him and I squeezed his arm. I knew how hard it was when someone brought up your addiction. Mycroft never brought it up unless he had to, but others weren't as kind about it. The worst part about it was people seemed to hang it over your head. It didn't matter what you did to turn your life around, people would always remind you of it.

"You?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped at him angrily before shaking off my hand and turning back to Lestrade. He was back to being his normal self. I sighed as I joined him across the room. I was pissed too. This wasn't fair, Lestrade knew about what I went through and what Sherlock went through. He was using that against us to get what he wanted. The fact that he would have never known about the case unless Sherlock and I pointed it out was what pissed me off the most. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," Lestrade told him as he nodded toward the kitchen.

"What, An..." Sherlock said as the closed doors to the kitchen slid open to reveal several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson turned toward the living room and raised his hand in sarcastic greeting. Lestrade, Sherlock, and John all stared at me worriedly as I let out an audible growl as my eyes zeroed in on what he was holding in his other hand.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" I spat at him as I strode forward and roughly snatched my bag from his hands. I opened my bag and took out my battered journal which I could see had been flipped though as some of the torn pages were askew and things I had thrown into it were haphazardly replaced.

"Oh, I volunteered," Anderson told me venomously as I walked away from him with my book in my hands, dropping my case bag near John's chair violently. I bit my lip angrily ready to punch him but holding back. This book was privet. I kept things in here that I had never told anyone about. Mycroft didn't even dare to look through it.

"They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen,' Lestrade said not realizing the danger everyone was in right now. I heard my phone buzz but ignored it. I knew that Mycroft's man across the street had notified him that something was going on with me. Donovan suddenly came into view from the kitchen holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it that I immediately identified as eyeballs.

"Are these human eyes?" She asked Sherlock as I bristled in my anger. It was boiling under the surface as much as I attempted to control it. The thought of Anderson, the little bastard looking through my journal, reading everything I had written made me want to go and grab the gun I knew John had on him and get a little bit trigger happy.

"Put those back!" Sherlock yelled as I heard my phone buzz again. I ignored it like before, too angry to even think about talking to Mycroft right now. I stared at Anderson with hate, knowing how easy it would be to take him out. No one would even see it coming. I might be able to take Donovan down too before someone stopped me. Lovely thoughts Lexi, I told myself. I grimaced internally knowing I had spent far too much time solving murders at this point if I was already planning the demise of Anderson and Donovan. I did, however, plan the deaths of my closest friends as a sort of exercise. Mycroft for instance would be easy enough to smother in his sleep. Gotta stop thinking about murder there Lex, getting kind of morbid now I told myself with a mental nervous chuckle. I wasn't a violent person, but my anger did get the better of me some times. While I would like nothing more than to kill Anderson right now, I never would actually murder someone.

"They were in the microwave!" Donovan responded in disgust. Good, I was glad she was disgusted. I wanted them out of the flat now.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock told her in his defense. My phone started ringing as Mycroft continued to try and reach me.

"Keep looking, guys," Lestrade told them as he stood up and turned to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish," Sherlock told him pacing angrily as my phone started ringing again.

'Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" Lestrade asked him. Sherlock stopped in his pacing and glared at him as I stood there staring numbly at them.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock asked him indignantly, spluttering over his words. I had never seen him be at a loss for words before, but I knew why he was now. He was right after all, the case was clearly visible in the room but instead of just taking it and leaving, he had to set up a fake drugs bust.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything," Lestrade told him seriously. I rolled my eyes at him as I continued to fume. This was beyond ridiculous at this point.

"I am clean!" Sherlock announced loudly. I looked to him and nodded, he was clean. The way it seemed, and I could only guess since I didn't actually know much about his own addiction, but from the way it sounded, he had, like me, taken drugs to help him think better. I knew he wasn't thinking of going back to that. We were clean and it was going to stay that way. Well, not to mention the fact that Mycroft would probably have my head if I used drugs again. I wasn't planning on it though. That was a part of my life I wanted to forget. I hadn't made the best choices then, but I was trying to make up for that now. Maybe it was time to start getting back into what I used to do. I tried to stay away from anything that reminded me of that part of my life and cases were part of it, but my work was part of me. As much as I tried to stay away from it, I couldn't stop myself. That was why I still did experiments, still played the viola, and still made deductions. Not like I could ever stop making deductions. It wasn't something that just turned off when you wanted it too.

"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade asked before he was cut off by the sound of Sherlock's phone going off at the same time as mine. Sherlock reached for his phone angrily and answered it.

"Holmes," He bit out before his face darkened even more. "I have no idea," Sherlock said into the phone before he held it out for me. I didn't even ask who it was as I took it from him. I knew who it was as I held the phone to my ear as everyone watched me curiously. Sherlock was scanning me taking in my posture and I saw the little light bulb turn on in his brain as he deduced the answer to whatever question Mycroft had asked him.

"Lexi, what is going on?" Mycroft asked me using the calm voice he always used when he knew I was about to blow at any second. Just because I hadn't snapped yet did not mean that Anderson was safe. In fact, he was as far from safe as anyone could ever be with me.

"You know what I said earlier about possibly needing you to bail me out of jail tonight. I might actually need you to do that," I said speaking quickly into the phone. I saw John and Lestrade's eyes widened at my words, but Sherlock remained emotionless as he studied me. I wasn't kidding, I was seriously considering punching the smug look off of Anderson's face.

"What happened?" Mycroft asked me hesitantly. I was quiet sure if he had been standing in front of me I would see his face pale. Mycroft had seen the extent of my anger before. Let's just say that conversation hadn't ended well, especially since my anger was directed towards him. That was back when I was in rehab though.

I strode past Lestrade and Sherlock and walked over to the window looking out of it down at the street. I could hear him moving in the background and he said something on the other side, but it was muffled. Something about Anthea getting the car ready for him. "They touched it Croft, they bloody went through it," I hissed angrily into the phone knowing that he would understand what I meant.

"I'm headed over now," Mycroft told me hurriedly as I heard him barking orders on the other line.

The one thing I could say about Mycroft is that no matter what he was doing, if I needed him, he was there. I had always wondered why, why he cared so much. I wasn't a family member, I wasn't a friend at first, but he had helped me. He had cared about me, something I had deduced wasn't normal for him. I could understand it better after having met Sherlock. I reminded him of Sherlock. Mycroft always told me he had regrets, should have done things differently with his brother and I never understood what he meant, but now I did. He wished he had been there more for Sherlock, had done things different with him. They were so estranged now, so much animosity between them that there really wasn't any brotherly bond between them anymore. I didn't know what lead to them growing so far apart, but I knew that Sherlock seemed to have never forgiven Mycroft for it. Mycroft treated me like a sister, he did for me what he wished he would have done for Sherlock. In a way it was touching to think that he had helped me because he saw me as being like his brother. That didn't mean that Mycroft didn't annoy the crap out of me half the time because he was being overprotective like a big brother would.

"No, you don't need to come. Right now I don't want to look at anyone and if you value your life, you will stay exactly where you are," I told him and I heard the line go dead for a few seconds before Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Please hand the phone back to my brother," Mycroft directed me calmly. I turned on my heel and strode over to Sherlock thrusting the phone in his direction. He took it and I briefly looked over at John and Lestrade who both looked really worried. They had yet to see the full extent of my temper.

"What?" Sherlock asked him before he fell silent as Mycroft was no doubt telling him the nature of the problem going on. Sherlock looked at me briefly for a second before clearing his throat. "I'll see what I can do," Sherlock told him before hanging up the phone. He looked back at me and approached me slowly like Mycroft had no doubt warned him to do. "Lexi, I know you're upset and angry, but I need you to focus on the case. Just remember the case. Nothing else matters except for the work," Sherlock told me as he hesitantly put a hand on my arm like I had done for him earlier when I tried to calm him down. My anger suddenly melted away and turned instead to shock. He was, well he was trying to comfort me. That was different, even Mycroft didn't initiate contact and I had known him for four years. Sherlock and I had only just met. I nodded at Sherlock slowly before moving and clutching my book to my chest. I looked at Lestrade who had his mouth hanging open like a goldfish and at John who looked shocked, confused, and slightly worried about what had just happened.

I knew that Lestrade had never truly seen me get that angry before, not even after the last case I worked on for him. "Are you going to check my flat next?" I snapped at Lestrade who promptly closed his mouth.

"Only if I have to," He said solemnly. I knew what he was thinking about and I turned my gaze from him before walking over to the book shelf and slipping my journal in between one of Sherlock's encyclopedias and a book on bee keeping.

"I don't even smoke," I told Lestrade as I turned around again and lifted up the arm of my jumper showing him my right arm. If you looked closely you could still see the scars of the needle marks around my elbow. Sherlock unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pulled it up to show the nicotine patch on his lower arm, well, one of them at least.

"Neither do I," Lestrade told me as he likewise pulled up the right sleeve of his own shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away and the three of us pulled our sleeves back down again "So let's work together. We've found Rachel," Lestrade told me trying to turn the conversation around to a less dangerous topic.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked him quickly as he turned back to face him. I walked forward crossing my arms in front of me.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter," Lestrade told me as he continued to eye me. For the rest of his life he would be glad he never did find out how far my anger went. I wasn't joking when I thought about taking John's gun and shooting Anderson.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" Sherlock asked me as he turned and looked at me with a frown.

"Never mind that. We found the case," Anderson said butting in as he pointed to the pink suitcase that we had left in the living room on our way out earlier. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopaths." I growled at Anderson who had the decency to look slightly scared.

"We're not psychopaths, Anderson. We're high-functioning sociopaths. Do your research," Sherlock told Anderson as he looked at him despairingly before turning back to Lestrade. I snorted at Sherlock. Oh to be sure I was a high functioning sociopath, but it was funny hearing Sherlock include me in what he was saying. We seemed to have found a sort of companionship one built on understanding of our pasts and the fact that we had both experienced the same struggles. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. We need to question her."

"She's dead," Lestrade told us and I groaned. Oh that was brilliant. It was always something.

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed and John looked startled at this. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago," Lestrade explained to Sherlock and I. John grimaced sadly and turned away, but Sherlock only turned to me and looked at me confused. I shared his expression. That didn't make since.

"No, that's ... that's not right," I told Lestrade before turning to look at Sherlock. "Sherlock, that's not right. We missed something, we had to have missed something. There's always something," I told him and he nodded at me in agreement. That didn't fit in with anything. Why, why would she write Rachel? There had to be something else to this mystery.

"How ... Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock asked me as he stepped closer to me.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?! Yup…sociopaths; I'm seeing it now," Anderson said and Sherlock and I both turned to him with exasperated looks on our face.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt," Sherlock said as he began to pace back and forth across the room again.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow," John offered up. Sherlock stopped and turned to him suddenly.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked and John stared back at him blankly. I had to agree with him on this one. Sherlock hesitated and looked back at me as he realized that everyone in the flat had stopped what they were doing and had fallen silent. I shrugged at Sherlock not understanding what their problem was. We glanced around the room before looking at John awkwardly who was staring in disbelief at the both of us.

"Not good?" I asked John slightly confused as I shifted uncomfortably as everyone watched Sherlock and I. I really couldn't understand what the problem was with what he had said. It made logical sense to me.

John also glanced around at the others before turning back to Sherlock and I. "Bit not good, yeah," John answered me and I looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow to see if he was just as confused as me as to why that was not good. Sherlock shook it off and stepped closer to John, looking at him intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds what would you say?" Sherlock asked him before turning back to me to show he was asking me the same question.

"'Please, God, let me live,'" John answered him without any hesitation. I nodded my head in silent agreement. I had said the same words only once before and I never wished to have to say them in the same context again.

"Oh, use your imagination!" Sherlock told us exasperatedly. I could see he was slightly disappointed in my response being the same as John's.

"I don't have to," John and I said at the same time. I looked over at John who shared the same look of pain as I did, though he also looked slightly surprised at my admission. Sherlock seemed to recognize the look of pain on our faces. He paused momentarily and blinked a couple of times, shifting his feet in in a sort of apologetic way before continuing.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever," Sherlock said as he started pacing again. I caught on to what he was think about easily.

"Clever, very, very clever. She's trying to tell us something," I realized and Sherlock flashed me a smirk as Mrs. Hudson came to the door of the living room.

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock, Lexi."

"We didn't order a taxi. Go away," Sherlock snapped at her as he continued pacing. Mrs. Hudson should be sainted for the fact that she didn't even bat an eye at the harshness of his words. She just looked around the room.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Mrs. Hudson asked us tittering away like a mother hen.

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," John told her sounding slightly exasperated.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers," Mrs. Hudson said anxiously. I blinked rapidly before scanning her, making a series of quick deductions. They most certainly were not just herbal soothers, but I was in no place at all to judge. I guess that was all part of Mrs. Hudson living through the 70's and 80's.

Suddenly Sherlock stopped in his pacing with his back to the door and shouted, "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

"What? My face is?!" Anderson asked him indignantly. I snorted at Anderson.

"Your face puts everyone off Anderson, I don't know how Donovan can bring herself to shag you," I told him with a venomous smirk on my face. Point one for Lexi, null for Anderson. At least it was a little form of revenge for what he had done that would not wind up with me in a cell. Mycroft would be so proud of me. The room grew completely silent again as Anderson and Donovan stood frozen and red in the face at my accusation.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back," Lestrade ordered, being the first person break the uncomfortable silence. John was currently staring at me like he was quite certain he never wanted to cross me.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson called as he stared at me with pure hatred. The feeling was mutual.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade ordered him. Anderson complied by shutting the door to the kitchen.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock said to himself, bringing his hands up to the side of his head and running them through his dark curls, tousling them more than they already were.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked him innocently. Oh, bad move.

Sherlock turned to her slowly. "MRS. HUDSON!" he shouted at her furiously. She turned and hurried away down the stairs. Sherlock stopped suddenly and looked around as he seemed to finally realize something. "Oh," He said as he smiled in delight and strode over to me holding my shoulders as he gazed down at me. I might be tall, but I still only just came up to his shoulder which forced me to have to look up at him. "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!" He said as he turned back to the others and released his grip on me. Everyone was looking at Sherlock oddly due to the little display of conviviality he had shown me. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it," Sherlock started before pointing at me gesturing for me to finish.

"She planted it on him. Oh she was rather clever wasn't she," I picked up for him as I thought it over. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left her mobile behind purposely to lead us straight to her killer," I told the room at large and Sherlock smiled at me as everyone just stared at the two of us.

"But how?" Lestrade asked us. Sherlock and I both slowly turned and stared at him. This was supposed to be Scotland Yard's best and brightest?

"Wha...? What do you mean, how?" Sherlock asked him and Lestrade just shrugged. Sherlock and I shared that typical look of exasperation as we realized that we would have to spell it out for them.

"Rachel!" I told Lestrade as Sherlock and I looked at everyone triumphantly. They all looked back at us blankly.

"Don't you see? Rachel!" Sherlock tried again and still everyone started at us blankly. Sherlock laughed in disbelief as he looked at me and then back at everyone else. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being us? It must be so relaxing. Lexi is the only one in this room that seems to have a working brain besides myself."

"Merci," I thanked Sherlock as I nodded my head in his direction. He returned my gesture with his own nod before turning back to look at everyone else again.

"Rachel is not a name," He told everyone sternly.

"Then what is it?" John asked him sounding equally stern.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address," Sherlock told him. John moved and looked at the label on the suitcase and read out the address for us.

"Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk," He told us as Sherlock sat down at the dining table and looked at his computer notebook. I stood behind his chair keeping enough distance between us. I knew Sherlock's aversion to human contact was firmly put into place again.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, its e-mail enabled," He said as he pulled up Mephone's website and typed the email address into the 'User name' box. "So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address..." He continued on as he began to type into the 'Password' box.

I straightened up and looked at everyone, especially at Anderson and Donovan who had slipped out of the kitchen. "... and all together now, the password is?" I asked them with just a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"Rachel," John answered me as he came to stand behind Sherlock with me.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson asked us. I let out a slow breath before rounding on Anderson.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street," I snapped at Anderson before turning back to look at Lestrade. "We can do so much more than just read her e-mails, don't you see! It's a smartphone which means it has GPS, which means if you lose it- you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her," I told him before turning back to Sherlock. I caught him smirking before he wiped the look off of his face.

"Unless he got rid of it," Lestrade pointed out. I rolled my eyes at his comment.

"We know he didn't," John told Lestrade for me as Sherlock stared at the screen impatiently as it continued to load the page that would tell us where her phone was at.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" Sherlock abused the computer as Mrs. Hudson trotted up the stairs and came to the door again.

"Sherlock, Lexi, dears. This taxi driver..." She said as Sherlock got to his feet and walked over towards her.

"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" Sherlock asked her as John sat down in the chair which Sherlock had just vacated and watched the clock spinning round on the website as it claimed the phone would be located in under three minutes. Sherlock turned to Lestrade suddenly as I walked over to the both of them. "We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter."

Mrs. Hudson looked around anxiously as a man walked slowly up the stairs behind her. That was strange. "We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever," Sherlock said to Lestrade seeming to not notice the man who was on the stairs. Something didn't sit right with me. There was something we were missing.

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name," Lestrade told him sounding tired.

"It's a start!" Sherlock huffed at him as I looked back towards the computer and saw that a map had now appeared and was zooming in on the location of the phone.

"Sherlock, Lexi..." John called and I made a move back over to the computer.

"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had," Sherlock continued to argue with Lestrade.

"Sherlock..." I called not believing what I was seeing on the screen in front of me.

"What is it? Quickly, where?" He asked us as he hurried across the room to look over our shoulders.

"It's here. It's in 221 Baker Street," John told him sounding surprised. He knew the same thing I did. The phone was most certainly not in this flat earlier. So how in hell was it here now?

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock asked me as he straightened up. I looked back over to the door where I had heard the man on the stairs who was currently paused and listening to what was going on inside the flat. It made perfect sense to me now. The reason why the phone was here was because the murderer was here. Why did he want to collect Sherlock and me? There had to be more to this.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade theorized.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?" Sherlock scoffed as he turned to look at me and rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," John told Lestrade who turned to his colleagues ignoring us.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim...," Lestrade told them.

I knew he was thinking over the same things I was, the exact questions he had asked John and I earlier. 'Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Behind Mrs. Hudson, the man reached the top of the stairs. He was wearing a badge in a leather holder on a cord around his neck. The badge was for a licensed London cab driver. 'Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?' 'Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?' Sherlock turned his head still thinking as I blinked. I should have realized it sooner. Suddenly Sherlock's phone and mine trilled a text alert at the same time. We both looked at each other before reaching for our phones and reading the text we had been sent simultaneously. "_**COME WITH ME**_." We shared a look for a brief moment before we both turned our heads towards the door, the taxi driver turned around and calmly headed off down the stairs.

"Sherlock, Lexi you okay?" John asked us as we stared after the man. Taxi drivers, some of the most interesting people you would ever meet.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine." Sherlock answered him vaguely as we watched the man go.

"Fine," I answered John not trusting myself to say more than that.

"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked us as we still watched the taxi driver.

"Dunno."

John got up to get his own phone out of his jeans pocket. "I'll try it again," He told us.

"Good idea," I told him as Sherlock and I headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked us sounding surprised.

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. We won't be long," Sherlock told him as we left the living room and headed down the stairs together only pausing briefly to look at each other.

"You sure you're all right?" John called after us as we hurried down the stairs.

"We're fine," I called back to him as Sherlock and I grabbed our coats from the bannister and pulled them on before stepping outside.

"You figured it out before I did," Sherlock said to me in a hushed tone.

"Only a few second before you did," I whispered back to him as we stood on the doorstep for a second. A taxi was parked at the curb and the driver, a Jeff Hope if his credentials were right, was leaning casually against the side of the cab.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes and Alexandria Mac'enna," He said as Sherlock and I stepped forward. Sherlock closed the door behind us as we stared at the taxi driver.

"We didn't order a taxi," Sherlock told him as he stepped a little bit forward so he was slightly blocking me from view. I looked up at him curiously.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one," The cabbie said with a slight shrug.

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger," Sherlock said as he caught up to the place I was. I had only figured it out sooner because I remembered what Sherlock had said.

"See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer," The cabbie told us with a smile as Sherlock and I took a few more steps forward before Sherlock looked up towards the windows of our flat.

"Is this a confession?" I asked the cabbie, not wanting to admit that I had thought about it being a cabbie. The thought had crossed my mind before outside of Angelo's but I had dismissed it.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else, if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise," The cabbie assured me. There was a catch here and I knew it was coming any second.

"Why?" Sherlock asked him voicing my question.

"'Cause you're not gonna do that," The cabbie said sounding sure of himself.

"We're not?" I asked him raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes, Ms. Mac'enna. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing,' He said as he leaned forward towards the two of us. "I will never tell you what I said." Sherlock and I stared at him. After a moment he straightened up and started to walk around the front of the cab.

"No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result," Sherlock called to him. The cabbie, or Jeff, stopped and turned back to us.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He asked us as he turned again and continued around to the driver's door. He got in his cab and sat down, settling into his seat and ignoring the two of us. Biting his lip Sherlock walked closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, before he bent down and looked into the open side window of the cab.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" Sherlock asked the cabbie. I was playing over the two decisions in my mind. Logic told me to go and get Lestrade, but I need to know what I had missed. There was something, something missing here and it was important.

"Let me take you for a ride," The cabbie said as he turned to look at Sherlock through the window.

"So you can kill me too?" Sherlock asked him with a bitter laugh.

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself. Ms. Mac'enna will too once I talk to her," The cabbie responded before he turned to face the front again.

Sherlock straightened up, his eyes lost in thought as he considered the situation presented to us. Jeff calmly sat gazing out of the front window, then smiles in satisfaction as the rear door opens. Sherlock and I didn't even both to look at each other as we slipped into the back of the cab, Sherlock slamming the door behind us. Jeff started the engine and pulled out on to the street. Things were about to get really interesting. I took my phone out of my pocket and shut it off completely. Mycroft didn't need to know about this.

* * *

**(A/N) Yup, Sherlock is not the only one to go on a little ride with the cabbie. What does this mean for Lexi? The conclusion of A Study in Pink goes up on Friday, but I have to warn you, the POV skips around a lot in the last chapter. Now, to go write up a nice murder for Sherlock to solve, he is ever so bored.** - KattieHolmes


	9. Paging Doctor Watson

**(A/N) So, the grand conclusion of A Study in Pink in which we learn something rather interesting about Lexi. Virtual cookies who may have been able to guess. I would love to hear your theories after you read the chapter. After this, some domestic Baker Street life and some of my own cases between this case and The Blind Banker. I hope you end up liking those. I'm typing up my second own case right now and then I have two more before The Blind Banker. It's going to be interesting. Thank you to everyone who has read my story! Nearly ten followers in one day. You make me feel so special. Thank you for the lovely review lostfeather. I'm glad you like the story and the evolving relationships. I think you are going to like the next few chapters. **

**Song that inspired the chapter (Is anyone actually listening to these? Eh, if you aren't I don't care. I'm still going to put it) : I Don't Know If I'll Be Back This Time by Sea Wolf**

* * *

Chapter Eight- Paging Dr. Watson

"**What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is what can you make people believe you have done." **

― **Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet**

**John's POV**

Upstairs, John had his phone held to his ear as he looked out of the window. He watched as Lexi and Sherlock got into the cab before it pulled away.

"They just got in a cab," John said as he turned to Lestrade "Its Sherlock and Lexi. They both just drove off in a cab," He continued. Donovan who was standing next to Lestrade huffed in irritation.

"I told you, they do that," She told John before she turned to Lestrade. "He bloody left again," She told him before she walked back to the kitchen, talking loudly as she went. "We're wasting our time!"

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out," John told Lestrade as he frowned.

In the cab, the pink phone started ringing and Sherlock and Lexi watched Jeff as he briefly looked down at it, the phone situated in the well beside his seat. It continued to ring as back in the flat, Lestrade watched John as he continued to hold his phone to his ear.

"If it's ringing, it's not here," Lestrade told him as he looked round the flat.

John lowered his phone and reached for Sherlock's laptop. "I'll try the search again,' John told Lestrade as Donovan came back to confront Lestrade.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time. And you saw how "Lexi" acted. She's unhinged. You heard what she said on the phone. I keep telling you that she's going to snap one of these days, but you never listen. Now her and him are together," Donovan said tetchily. Lestrade stared at her for a long moment as she held his gaze before he sighed loudly.

"Okay, everybody. Done 'ere," Lestrade called to everyone who started to pack up their stuff. John looked up from the computer in surprised. Sherlock and Lexi mysteriously leave in a cab and no one else cared. John was starting to see why Sherlock and Lexi both seemed to hate Donovan and Anderson. John wasn't sure exactly what was in the book in Lexi's bag, but judging from her near murderous reaction it was really important to her. As for Donovan she constantly bad mouthed the two of them. John felt uncomfortable every time she mentioned Lexi. She called her unhinged, and kept saying something about her snapping one of these days. From what John could see Lexi was a really sweet girl, she was odd yeah, but everyone had their quirks. She had quite a temper, but John chalked that up to her being Irish and a woman to boot. As for Sherlock while he seemed like a right arse, there was something about him that intrigued John Watson, though he couldn't quite place it. They were an odd pair, but for the first time in months… he actually was able to forget the battlefield. Running with Sherlock and Lexi was a battle all on its own.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

"How did you find us?" Sherlock asked the cabbie as I slid my mobile into the inner pocket of my coat. Sherlock was controlling the conversation and if the look he flashed me was any indication, he was trying to pull the cabbie's attention away from me. I wondered just what Mycroft told Sherlock on the phone.

"Oh, I recognized yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it! Was warned about you too Ms. Mac'enna. Very brilliant aren't yer," The cabbie complimented me. One look at Sherlock was enough to tell me that he was seeing the same thing I was. Every time the cabbie spoke, he kept bringing things back around to me. It was then that I realized that I knew the cabbie. He was one of the usual cabbies that drove me. He was a father… so why or when did he become a serial killer? I shuddered a little bit. It was unnerving to think that I had been driven nearly every day by a serial killer.

"Who warned you about us?" Sherlock asked the cabbie as I stared back at the man. I tried to scan him over. There was something I missed. I had never really looked, but now I did. Ah I had been so stupid, terminal illness. That was why he started killing, but why? Why start now?

"Just someone out there who's noticed you. Took quite an interest in you Ms. Mac'enna, noticed yer," The cabbie said and I could see his smile in the review mirror.

"Who?" I asked the cabbie as I leaned forward and looked closely at the side of Jeff's neck. I didn't want him to think he made me uneasy. I noticed the photograph of the young boy and girl that he had attached to the dashboard. That was right he had young children. Mother wasn't in the picture either.

"Who would notice me?" Sherlock asked the cabbie as he copied my movements.

"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes," Jeff told him as he met his eyes briefly in the rear view mirror.

"I'm really not," Sherlock told him and I snorted. One thing I had come to learn through my association with Mycroft was that a Holmes was never modest.

"You've got yourselves a fan," Jeff told us and Sherlock and I both sat back in our seats at the same time.

"Tell me more,' Sherlock ordered him nonchalantly.

"That's all you're gonna know..." Jeff said before pausing dramatically for a moment. "...in this lifetime," He finished quietly. I snorted and rolled my eyes. Men, they had to be so dramatic. Mycroft could make it seem like the world was ending if he had to do leg work and Sherlock, well Sherlock just seemed to be dramatic about a lot of things. I looked out the window of the cab and stared out at the streets of London that were rushing by. I pulled my phone out and turned it on texting Mycroft two words: _Vatican Cameos._

* * *

**John's POV**

Back at the flat, the other police officers left, but Lestrade lingered as he picked up his coat and turned to John. "Why did they do that? Why did they have to leave?" Lestrade asked John as if he knew the answer.

"You know them better than I do," John told him with a shrug. He had really only known them for what was shaping up to be the most ridiculous day of his life. Between the crime scene, the cab chase throughout London, and a drugs bust at the flat he was considering living in, John was ready to just settle down with a nice hot cuppa. Finding out that Lexi and Sherlock were both former addicts was a bit surprising given the way they acted and their intelligence. Lexi's admission was far more surprising than Sherlock's. John wondered what she meant about not having to know, like she did actually know. John couldn't imagine Lexi coming that close to death, but she did work as a detective before. She must have had some dangerous cases.

"I've known him for five years, Lexi for seven and no, I don't," Lestrade told John with a shake of his head. **(A/N To clear up any confusion, Sherlock worked a year for Lestrade before Lestrade kicked him out to get clean. Lexi then worked for Lestrade for the three years Sherlock was battling his addiction, the years Sherlock really didn't see anyone. Then, Lexi left after those three years to battle her own addictions and Sherlock came back and has been working cases again for Lestrade the last four years. While Lexi was out she still kept in contact with Lestrade. So, they always seemed to miss each other. Highly convenient right?)**

"So why do you put up with them?" John questioned him mildly confused.

"Because I'm desperate, that's why," Lestrade answered him as he walked to the door. He turned back and looked at John. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one. As for Lexi, she's a great woman. She's certainly the most interesting woman you will ever meet, but quite possibly, she can be the greatest woman you will ever meet. Word of advice, Lexi's past is worse than Sherlock's. She changes her mood faster than Sherlock changes his mind. Become her enemy and you'll wish you hadn't, become her friend and she'll never let you down. Just…be patient with her. Sherlock is predictable, but Lexi never is. She has a lot of heart and she seems mental at times, but she means well," Lestrade told John before he turned and left.

John stared at the door for a few minutes. Lexi MacKenna, the way everyone made her sound it was like she was this mystery and quite possibly she was. What had he gotten himself into? John sighed as he turned around and limped over to the window. He looked down at his hand for a second and saw the tremor was back. How was it that two of the strangest people in the world could come into his life like a whirlwind and change everything in his life in just a few hours? There was no question about it, he was taking the room. John looked out of the window and out at the dark, quiet streets of London. Now, only to figure out where Sherlock and Lexi had run off to.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

The cab drove on for a few more blocks and the three of us sat in silence before the cabbie finally pulled to a stop at the front of two identical buildings side by side. Jeff turned off the engine and got out before coming to the passenger door and opening it. He looked in at Sherlock and me expectantly.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked him as he stared up at him from his seat.

"You two know every street in London. You know exactly where we are," Jeff answered him as his eyes flashed towards me.

"This is the Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here of all places?" I asked the cabbie who smiled back at my answer smugly.

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie, you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out," Jeff said and I snorted. It would be like a gang, a gang of killer cabbies. Sometimes the rates they charged felt like murder.

"Yes, and as a detective I know how to murder people in multiple ways. I'm not a serial killer though," I quipped back with a roll of my eyes. The cabbie chuckled at me and I sighed heavily. "So what, you just walk your victims in? How does that work? 'Cos I really don't feel like walking anywhere with you," I continued with a bored look on my face.

"Thought you might say that," Jeff told me as he raised a pistol and pointed it at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his head away to look at me.

"Oh, dull,' He said sounding as bored as I was.

"Hmm very original. However, you do realize that I've only just met Sherlock so I have no emotional attachment to him. Pointing a gun at him will not entice me to go anywhere. You could shoot him and it still wouldn't faze me," I drawled out as I started to casually braid my hair out of the way.

"We both know differently though don't we," Jeff said as he pointed the gun at me. "Mr. 'olmes and you are too much alike. He interests you," He continued as he turned the gun back to Sherlock. I raised an eyebrow at him as I threw my braided hair over my shoulder.

"Mmmm," I hummed in a way that made it sound like I was bored rather than agreeing. I tried to make him think he couldn't use us against each other. I wasn't sure if Sherlock would care or not if I got shot, but I would if he did. Unfortunately the cabbie was right, I cared about Sherlock because he interested me. "So what happens now, because this is getting rather boring?" I asked the cabbie with feigned nonchalance. I knew that Mycroft had probably received my text by now. That meant that he was probably searching for where I was and trying to find what kind of situation I was in. We set up our duress code after a slight mishap. If either of us were in danger we would send each other a text. I had only ever received one from Mycroft, and he wasn't even in danger. He just wanted to get out of a meeting with the Belgian Ambassador. I had only ever sent Mycroft a total of two, now three distress texts.

"Don't worry. It gets better," Jeff assured me and I waved my hand that gestured for him to carry on.

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint," Sherlock pointed out sounding bored. I knew that he was only feigning nonchalance. He realized the seriousness of the situation we were in too.

"I don't. It's much better than that," Jeff told us as he lowered the gun. "Don't need this with you two, 'cos you'll follow me," Jeff continued before he confidently walked away. As soon as he was out of ear shot Sherlock turned to me.

"Go to the end of the road and call Mycroft, he'll come and collect you," Sherlock order me. I snorted at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Not going to happen sweetie," I said before I opened my door and slid out of the cab. "You're not the only one working this case Lock," I told him before I closed the door and walked around the front of the cab. I heard Sherlock make sound behind me before I heard his door slam shut and he fell into step beside me. **(A/N Yes, she used an endearment, not the first time it will happen either. And, Sherlock has his nickname! Mycroft got his after two years, Sherlock's after not even two days. What does this tell you?)**

I wanted to know just what it was that Jeff thought he could say to me that would get me to kill myself. My past was haunted by a lot of different things. There was my childhood, my addiction, my time working on cases. There was a lot to choose from. One thing was certain though, I was invested. The only thing I could thank Jeff for was that it was this case that made me realize that I missed what I used to do before.

* * *

**John's POV**

Back at 221B, John found himself alone in the flat. He contemplated just going home since it was late and he didn't think Lexi or Sherlock would be coming back anytime soon. He walked towards the living room door, but he paused and looked down, clenching his right hand realizing that he didn't have his walking cane. He looked around the flat and saw the cane lying on top of a box of papers next to the dining table and went over to collect it. Behind him Sherlock's notebook was still on Mephone's website and the clock was spinning on the screen as the site searched for Jennifer Wilson's phone. John picked up the cane and headed for the door again just as the computer beeped triumphantly and a map appeared on the screen and started to zoom in on the location of the phone. John turned back as the computer beeped repeatedly. He hesitated only for a second before he went back to the table and propped his cane against it. It couldn't hurt to at least see where it was. He picked up the notebook and looked at the screen.

The map said the phone was at the Roland-Kerr Further Education College. It had moved nearly clear across the city. How was that even possible? John felt ice in his veins as he finally put the evidence together. The phone was in the flat just before Lexi and Sherlock got into a cab and now it was clear across London. Shit. John turned taking the notebook with him as he hurried out of the door and down the stairs taking them two at a time. He didn't care what happened, he only cared that Lexi and Sherlock were now with the murder. He rushed out of the flat and hailed a cab once again forgetting to take his cane in his haste.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

Jeff opened the door of a room and stood aside so that Sherlock and I could go in. Sherlock looked at him closely but stepped inside the room ahead of me without a word. I raised an eyebrow at Jeff which made him chuckle before I strode past him. He released the door and let it swing closed as he walked over to some switches on the wall and turned on the lights. We were in a large classroom which had long fixed wooden benches and plastic chairs. It reminded me of my Uni days. Of course I studied at the University of Edinburgh rather than here in London. Sherlock walked deeper into the room, looking around as I stood there choosing to scan the room with my eyes instead.

"Well, what do you think?" Jeff asked us. Sherlock raised his hands and shrugged as if to ask, 'What do I think about what?' "It's up to you. You're the ones who are gonna die 'ere," Jeff continued as Sherlock turned his back to him.

"No, I'm not," Sherlock announced confidently.

"I'm interested in what you think you could say to make me want to kill myself," I commented with a sniff which made Jeff the killer cabbie smirk at me.

"That's what they all say," He told me as he gestured to one of the benches. "Shall we talk?" He asked us. Without waiting for a reply he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front, flipped it around and sat down opposite him. He sighed dramatically. Both men turned to me questioningly and I shrugged before pulling out a chair beside Sherlock. I crossed my arms as I sat down before I put my boot clad feet up on the table in front of us.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you," Sherlock began after he gave a look that questioned my sitting posture.

"You call that a risk? Nah," Jeff told him as he reached into the left pocket of his cardigan. "This is a risk," He continued as he took out two small glass bottles with a screw top on them and put them onto the table in front of him. There was a single large capsule inside the both of them. Sherlock looked at them but didn't react in anyway. I snorted at his definition of a risk. "Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this," Jeff said with a laugh as he reached into his right pocket, taking out two identical bottles containing identical capsules. He put them both down onto the table beside the first two bottles. "You weren't expecting that, were yer?" Jeff asked us as he leaned forward. "Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock questioned him as I raised an eyebrow as I realized how the game went.

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours, your fan told me about it," Jeff told him as he leaned back in his chair again.

"My fan?" Sherlock asked him curiously. I was interested to see who had gone to great lengths to get Sherlock's and now my attention. I didn't take cases any more, I was for all extensive purposes, currently, off the grid.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" He asked us as he looked down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" He asked us as he looked up again and diverted his attention to me. I looked back at him for a long moment before Sherlock interrupted us.

"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too," Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you two ever know," He said as Sherlock held his gaze for a second or two before he looked down to the table.

"Okay, four bottles. Explain," Sherlock ordered him as I removed my feet from the table and sat up straight.

"There's two good bottles and two bad bottles. You two take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die," Jeff explained to us. I nodded before sighing.

"The four bottles are of course identical so that there is no way we could deduce which is the good and which is the bad. A bit boring, but nice touch," I said as I eyed the bottles. Jeff chuckled at me.

"He said you were a funny one. You interest him. Shame about your accident, he wasn't quite happy about that," Jeff said and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Well, sorry to disappoint," I told him before I brought the subject back around to the bottles rather than on me. "You know which is which, but we don't," I clarified.

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the ones who choose," Jeff told us as he continued to smirk at me.

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" Sherlock asked him as I folded my hands steepling my index fingers under my nose as if I was making a shushing gesture with both hands. We were about to play a deadly game. Of course I could just walk away and leave Sherlock to his own devices. Part of me wanted to play the game though.

"I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you two choose, I take the pill from the other ones…and then, together, we take our medicine," Jeff told us. Sherlock started to grin, seemingly interested now. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you two don't," Jeff assured us. Sherlock looked down at the bottles, concentrating properly now. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes? But you did, ain't that right Ms. Mac'enna?"

"Naturally, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth," I said cryptically as a response quoting Sherlock's third bullet point on his website in my own words. Jeff smirked as he realized what I had done.

"This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice," Sherlock stated suddenly. Jeff and I turned to look at Sherlock. I looked down at the pocket that held my phone from a brief second before looking up quickly again so as not to give things away. Mycroft was slow which meant that he didn't know where I was and was having trouble finding me. My phone didn't have GPS in it, a requirement I had insisted on when Mycroft gave me the phone. I had told him he already had enough ways to track me without it. Now that I was working cases again, having a GPS in my phone seemed like a good idea. I would ask Mycroft about it later.

"And now I'm givin' you two one," Jeff told us as he watched the both of us intently. "You two take your time. Get yourselves together," Jeff told us as he licked his lips in anticipation. "I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance," Sherlock said sarcastically. Oh yes, lets goad the killer cabbie.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, its chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move," Jeff said as he slid a bottle across the table towards Sherlock and I. He licked his top lip as he pulled his hand back leaving the bottles in front of us. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one. One of you might live and one of you might die. Be interesting to see which one of you gets it right," Jeff said with a little smirk. I looked at the bottles in front of us, Mycroft better get here soon.

* * *

**John's POV**

John sat in the back of a taxi with the computer notebook open on his lap. He had been trying to get a hold of Lestrade for the last few minutes, but he kept getting redirected to other people.

"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" John angrily said into the phone. No one seemed to want to put him through to Lestrade. He was getting absolutely nowhere. He still had his gun on him though.

"Er, left here, please. Left here," John directed the cabbie as he checked the map on the netbook. If the police didn't want to help than he would just have to do this alone. John only hoped he wasn't too late to help them.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ms. Mac'enna? Ready to play?" Jeff asked us growing a little impatient.

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance," Sherlock quipped. I knew that while he was curious, this wasn't generally his thing. He preferred logic over chance.

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?" Jeff asked us as I picked up one of the bottles and looked at it. Sherlock watched me curiously.

"You know, no matter how you say it, it's still just chance," I told Jeff as I looked over the top of the bottle.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance," Jeff scoffed as I continued to study the bottle.

"Luck," Sherlock told him.

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think," Jeff insisted. I looked over the bottle gain and watched as Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead." Sherlock looked exasperated while I cocked me head to the side thoughtfully. "Everyone's so stupid…even you," Jeff continued before he looked at me. "Not you though, he says you are smarter than you let on. Says you are unpredictable." Sherlock's gaze sharpened. "Or maybe God just loves me," Jeff finished as Sherlock straightened up and leaned forwards, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," He said with a small smirk on his face. Both men regarded each other as I looked down at the bottle still in my hands. We couldn't stall forever, sooner or later we would have to make a choice.

Four bottles all identical, containing identical capsules. He claimed two were good while two were bad. 'Never bet against a Sicilian when death is on the line.' Four times he played the game and all four times he had survived. Either he was really lucky or he found another way to survive. Oh clever…he built up an immunity to the poison. It was easy enough to do. It was like one of my experiments when I had taken small doses of a paralytic drug to build up an immunity to the effects of it. It came in handy once during a case. So, he could take the pill and survive, but everyone else would die. This was going to get really interesting.

* * *

**John's POV**

John got out of the cab in front of the Roland-Kerr College. He paid the cabbie before quickly slipping out of the cab with Sherlock's laptop in hand. As the taxi pulled away, John tucked the notebook into his jacket and looked at the two identical buildings in front of him. The map wasn't specific enough to tell him which building the phone was in. He had to make a choice. John took a deep breath before he made his choice and rushed towards the buildings. He only hoped that he had made the right choice.

* * *

**Lexi's POV **

I watched as Sherlock lifted his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazed at Jeff intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" Sherlock asked him.

"Yeah, I was wondering where the whole killer cabbie thing came in 'cos you've driven me before," I said as I put the bottle back down in front of me. It didn't matter which one I chose, they were all the same and they all could kill me.

Jeff nodded down to the bottles ignoring my comment. Sherlock looked surprised by this bit of information. "Time to play," He told us.

Sherlock unfolded his fingers and adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth. "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. "Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you," Sherlock continued as I watched Jeff trying not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze.

"I remember, you told me you had two children. Your wife left you and you don't get to see your children often, but you miss them a lot more than you let on," I said as I scrunched up my face in thought. Jeff's gaze slid away from me and for the first time I saw a hint of pain in his eyes.

"Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts,' Sherlock said as he extended his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more," Sherlock continued as Jeff lifted his head and gazed back to Sherlock as he pointed his index fingers towards them. "Your clothes, recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" Sherlock asked him. Jeff had gotten control of himself again and his expression gave away nothing as he gazed back at Sherlock.

"Three years ago that's when they told you isn't it?" I asked him softly suddenly realizing what would make a man who didn't seem the type suddenly go on a killing spree.

"Told me what?" Jeff asked me flatly.

"That you're a dead man walking," Sherlock answered him cutting me off. I looked at Sherlock angrily. Yes, he was a murderer, but I pitied him as much as a sociopath could. He was a father and he loved his children. He was more than my father ever was.

"So are you," Jeff quipped back.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" Sherlock asked him. Jeff smiled before he sighed.

"Aneurism," He told us as he raised his right hand and tapped the side of his head. "Right in 'ere," Jeff continued as Sherlock smiled in satisfaction at having made the right deduction. I grimaced, sometimes it wasn't fun to be right. "Any breath could be my last."

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people," Sherlock stated as he frowned again.

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism," Jeff told him. I shook my head. This wasn't just about fun or about outliving people. He cared about his children, this had something to do with them.

"No, nice try though. You see I would have believed you if I hadn't taken your cab before. I remember everything. You couldn't stop talking about your children. I remember because I thought it was sweet to see a father so dedicated to his children,' I said as I leaned forward and studied the man who turned his full attention to me. "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. This is about your children. They're the only thing that truly matters to you. Your life, that's hardly worth anything, but your children, you'd do anything for them. You'd even kill four people for them," I finished as I watched him closely for his reaction.

Jeff looked away and sighed. "Ohh," He said before he looked back at me. "You are good, ain't you? He said you were. You're right though. When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs," Jeff told me and I nodded slowly. I thought as much.

"Or serial killing," Sherlock added after a silent second.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me," Sherlock shot back. Jeff leaned forward grinning.

"I 'ave a sponsor," He told us triumphantly.

"You have a what?" Sherlock asked him in disbelief.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think," Jeff told us with another grin.

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock asked him with a frown. Yes, who exactly. More than likely someone who you never wanted to meet.

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" Jeff replied instantly. Both men stared at each other for a moment. The testosterone in the room was a little overwhelming. Men liked to challenge each other while women had to keep the level head in situations like this. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that."

The side of Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste. "What d'you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either," Jeff said before I interrupted him with a well-timed comment.

"Voldemort?" I asked him hopefully, if anything just to stall a little longer. Sherlock and Jeff both turned to me, Sherlock to glare and Jeff to look at me with amusement. He chuckled as I shrugged back at Sherlock. What, I was buying us more time by interrupting.

"He said you was funny like that, always making jokes. Told me I would have to keep a close watch on ya. Now, enough chatter." Jeff told us as he nodded down to the bottles. "Time to choose." Sherlock looked down to the bottles, finally breaking eye contact with me, his eyes moving from one to the other. I wouldn't be able to tell him that they were all poison without alerting Jeff that I had figured it out. This was a game we couldn't win. I held onto my composure as I looked between Sherlock and Jeff. This wasn't the first time I had played the deadly game.

* * *

**John's POV**

Elsewhere in the college, John was madly running through the corridors in a desperate attempt to find Sherlock and Lexi before he was too late. There was just something about the pair of them. Sherlock was arrogant and a right arse and Lexi was quirky and fun loving. John had smiled when he watched her run ahead of them. She looked so happy as if she had never known such freedom.

"Sherlock? Lexi?" John called out as he ran from door to door, trying them and peering through windows.

"Sherlock! Lexi!" He called out again a little more urgently. John felt numb as he kept on searching for them. What if they were already dead? No, they were here somewhere and he would find them. He had to find them.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here," Sherlock stated. Jeff sighed in a combination of exasperation and disappointment as he lifted up the pistol and pointed it at Sherlock.

"Mmmm, I was thinking the same thing. Cause… not that this is not extremely interesting, but I'm not really sold on the whole idea. Besides, what girl has the time to die? I think I'm due to wash my hair and call my friends to chat about boys," I said as I put my feet up on the desk again and leaned back in my chair. I had to buy us as much time as I could until Mycroft could get here. By now he should have found where I was and sent someone.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head," Jeff told me as he rounded to gun on me. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"And here I was thinking we were just started getting better acquainted," I said as I sighed dramatically. Sherlock was watching me curiously as he tried to figure out where I was going with this. "You know what? I'll have the gun, please," I said as I uncrossed my legs and sat up straight again.

"Are you sure?" Jeff asked me sounding surprised by my choice.

"Definitely, I'm not into the whole poison thing. Just say no to drugs, you know?" I said and I saw Sherlock's mouth twitch up into a smirk from the corner of my eyes. "Yeah laugh it up Holmes," I shot at him before turning back to Jeff, flashing him a falsely cheerful grin. "The gun," I told him with a nod.

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Jeff asked me. I smiled back at him confidently before making a gesture with my hand for him to go ahead.

"The gun. Could we hurry this up a bit? 'Cos the suspense is killing me more than you seem to be." Jeff's mouth tightened, and slowly he squeezed the trigger. A small flame bursts out of the end of the muzzle. I snorted before grinning slightly smugly. "I know a real gun when I see one," I told Jeff with a shake of my head. "Really it was obvious." Jeff calmly lifted the pistol/cigarette lighter and released the trigger. The flame went out

"None of the others realized it," Jeff said sounding slightly impressed.

"Mmm, but if you've learnt anything from this it's that Sherlock and I aren't like the others," I pointed out to Jeff. Normal people saw a gun and immediately they would do whatever you told them too. They wouldn't even look at the gun closely enough to see that it looked wrong. They would rather take a fifty fifty chance at living than a guaranteed death sentence.

"Clearly," Sherlock said with a little smirk. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case," Sherlock continued as we both stood up and walked towards the door. Jeff put the gun onto the desk and calmly turned in his seat.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out...," Jeff called to us just as we reached the door. Sherlock and I stopped and half-turned back towards him. "...which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course. Child's play," Sherlock bragged as Jeff's gaze slid to me awaiting my answer.

"I figured it out as you two were talking," I admitted truthfully. I knew that he would think that I had believed his whole lie about there being a good bottle and a bad one. He was too sure of himself to think that someone would see right through him.

"Well, which one, then?" Jeff asked us as Sherlock opened the door a little. He showed no sign of leaving the room as I turned back to Jeff. "Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" Jeff challenged us. Sherlock closed the door again. "Come on. Play the game," Jeff ordered us as he chuckled.

Slowly Sherlock walked back towards him. When he got to the table, he reached out and swept up the bottle nearest to Jeff, then walked past him. I looked back at Jeff before walking forward and picking up the bottle that had been in front of me. Jeff looked down at the two remaining bottles with interest but his voice gave nothing away as he spoke.

"Oh. Interesting," He said as he picked up the other bottles as Sherlock looked down at the bottle in his own hand. There was not stopping this now.

* * *

**John's POV**

Out in the corridors, John was still running along and searching frantically for Lexi and Sherlock. He kept hoping that he would open a door and find the red headed Irish girl and the dark haired detective. With every door that led to an empty room he felt his stomach drop out.

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

Jeff opened his bottles and tipped the capsules out into his hand. He held them up and looked at them closely as he pinched the two pills between his fingers. Sherlock examined his own bottle closely. I did even both taking a second look at the pill that was going to end of killing me. They said drugs lead you to an early grave, guess I got to find that out. I could still walk away though. I could leave Sherlock behind. A little voice in my head told me I should do that, that it would be what Mycroft wanted me to do since I couldn't convince Sherlock to stop being an idiot, but the larger part of me couldn't walk away from him. If he was going to do this, I would be right here with him. For some reason, I just couldn't walk away from him. It was like I had been meant to meet him, meant to meet John. The consulting detective and the army doctor, two men who were nothing alike who had changed my life for the better in just the short time I had known them. I couldn't remember feeling as happy as I did now in a long time, even if I was facing imminent death. Sherlock reminded me how it felt to be solving cases, the thrill of making that first deduction, the freedom of just being myself. John on the other hand showed me the understanding and the kindness I had started to think people no longer had. It give me hope that not everyone would think I was the freak. I was so alone before and I honestly owed them so much. They had, somehow, saved me from myself and with no more than just being who they were. So no, I couldn't just leave Sherlock. We were in this together until the very end of the case.

"So what d'you think?" Jeff asked us as he looked up at us. "Shall we? Really, what do you think?" He asked us as he stood up and face the both of us. "Can you beat me?"

"Are you clever enough to bet your life?" Jeff asked us. I looked down at me bottle.

Of course he would try and appeal to our ego. I didn't need to prove anything though. I never had, which is why I silently made my deductions and kept what I found to myself for the most part. This was a dangerous game and only one person would walk away from it and that person would certainly not be Sherlock or I. Wouldn't be the first time I risked my life on a case. Strange how this would be the one that ended things.

* * *

**John's POV**

John burst through a door and stared ahead of him as he finally saw who he was looking for. His eyes fill with horror as he took in the scene in front of him. John watched as Sherlock lifted his gaze from the bottle he was holding.

"SHERLOCK! LEXI!" John cried out in horror as he stood watching the scene unfolding in the class room across the way through the window. He didn't have time to get to them. He pulled out his gun and waited. They wouldn't be stupid enough to take the pill… would they?

* * *

**Lexi's POV**

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you and a woman of your intellect…" Jeff said as he held his own pill. Sherlock and I unscrewed the lids of our bottles in unison. "... so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Jeff continued as Sherlock and I took out the capsules and held them between our thumbs and index fingers. Sherlock raised his to the light to examine it more closely. "Still the addicts," Jeff carried on as Sherlock lowered his pill and held it at eye level, gazing at it. "But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, innit?" Jeff asked us as Sherlock continued to stare at his pill. I looked down at it remembering the last time I had come so close to death. "You'd do anything ... anything at all..." Jeff said as I laughed to myself. I once thought the needle would be my end, but now it was a tiny little capsule. "...to stop being bored," Jeff finished as Sherlock and I slowly began to move the pills closer to our mouths. Jeff matched our movements with his own pill. "You're not bored now, are you?" Jeff asked us as the three of us raised our pills to our lips. "Innit good?" Jeff asked us before a gunshot suddenly rang out through the room.

In my surprise I dropped my pill as I let out a strangled cry. The bullet impacted Jeff's chest close to his heart before going through his body and smashing into the door behind him. He fell to the floor as Sherlock dropped his own pill in surprise. In the opposite building, John had his pistol still raised and aimed out of the window. He lowered the gun to his side. Sherlock turned and slid over the desk behind him and hurried to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. I hurried over to his side and looked across to the other building. The window of the opposite room was open but there is nobody in sight. Sherlock and I straightened up before we heard Jeff breathing heavily and coughing. We turned back in unison, looking around the room and seeing two of the pills lying on the desk as Jeff convulsed on the floor and gasped and coughed in pain. Sherlock strode away from me and snatched up on of the pills, kneeling down and brandishing it at Jeff, who had a large pool of blood underneath him and was staring up at him in shock.

"Was I right?" Sherlock demanded him. Jeff turned his head away in disbelief. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Sherlock demanded more forcefully. Jeff didn't reply and Sherlock angrily hurled the pill across the room and stood up. "Okay, tell me this, your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me…my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No," Jeff told him weakly as I walked forward and stood beside Sherlock looking down at the man. A shot over that distance and window of opportunity had to mean that the shooter was skilled. Not one of Mycroft's men though, this was someone different.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name,' Sherlock order him again. Jeff shook his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and put it on Jeff's shoulder. Jeff gasped out in pain. I winced. "A name," Sherlock ordered as Jeff cried out in pain. "Now." Still Jeff refused to answer him and only whined in pain. Sherlock's face looked intent and manic as he leaned his weight onto his foot causing Jeff to whimper.

"The NAME!" Sherlock shouted at him furiously.

"MORIARTY!" Jeff cried out in agony before his eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. Sherlock stepped back turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouthed the word 'Moriarty' to himself.

"Have you heard the name before?" Sherlock asked me suddenly. I blinked back at him in surprise, still a little shocked about everything that had just happened. It was completely unexpected, especially since I knew that wasn't one of Mycroft's men.

"No," I answered him slowly as I got a handle on myself again. I didn't know the name, at least I couldn't place it to a face, but it did sound familiar "But, I can tell you, whoever they are, they're Irish. I think I've heard the name before too, but I'm not sure where," I told him before the sound of sirens cut us off. The sound grew louder until the room reflected the blue and red lights of police cars. "Hmm Mycroft is getting slow," I remarked as we heard the door burst open from somewhere in the college.

"You told him where we were?" Sherlock asked me sounding mildly annoyed.

"Not exactly, I texted him our code word. He knew to find me," I told Sherlock as the door suddenly burst open and Lestrade, Donovan, and a few other officers came into the room all guns blazing. Lestrade looked between the body on the ground and us before he lowered his gun.

"Bloody hell what happened?" Lestrade asked us as he ordered everyone to stand down.

Sherlock explained everything that had happened from us leaving the flat to the cabbie getting shot by a mysterious sniper. He brushed over a few of the finer details which I knew Lestrade would notice. He seemed to be being lenient for the most part. We were forced to get checked out in an ambulance. Sherlock and I sat side by side as EMTs forcibly looked us over. I complied, but complained through the entire process. They seemed to think we would suddenly go into shock so they draped hideous orange blankets over our shoulders. No matter how many times we shrugged them off, they kept putting them back. Lestrade walked over to us just as the paramedic put the blanket back around my shoulders for the third time. Sherlock gestured to our blankets as he looked at Lestrade.

"Why have we got these blankets? They keep putting these blankets on us," Sherlock whined as I threw the blanket off of me for the fourth time.

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade told us. I sighed loudly and rolled my eyes at Greg.

"We're not in shock. We're perfectly fine," I told Lestrade as I threw my hands in the air in exasperation.

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs," Lestrade told me as he grinned. Sherlock and I looked at each other despairingly before rolling our eyes at Lestrade in unison. I saw Lestrade cringe when he noticed us do this. Get used to it Greg, I thought as I smiled at the man cheekily.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" Sherlock asked him changing the subject.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ...," Greg said with a shrug. "...got nothing to go on."

Sherlock looked at him pointedly as I snorted and raised my eyebrow gesturing between Sherlock and myself. "Seriously Greg? You have nothing to go on. Do you forget you are in the presence of greatness?" I asked him with a cheeky grin. I caught Sherlock's smug smirk beside me. Now it was Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, gimme," Lestrade relented as I hopped off the back of the ambulance while Sherlock stood up beside me.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon…that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until we were in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service...,' Sherlock started as we both looked around the area. Our eyes both fell on John who was standing some distance away behind the police tape. "... and nerves of steel...," He continued before trailing off. John looked back at the two of us innocently than turned his head away. It was John who made the shot that saved our lives. Lestrade turned to follow our gaze but Sherlock turned back to him before he could start to ask questions.

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me," Sherlock told him suddenly.

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked him dumbfounded as I turned away from John. I couldn't even begin to consider what he had done for us.

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking," Sherlock told him as we both started walking towards John.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade asked us as we continued to walk away from him.

"We just need to talk about the rent Greg," I answered him nonchalantly.

"But I've still got questions for you," Lestrade called after us. Sherlock turned back to him in irritation and I turned around slowly on my heel to face Lestrade again.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock snapped at him as he brandished the sides of his blanket at Lestrade as if to prove his point.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called in exasperation.

"And we just caught you a serial killer ... more or less," Sherlock finished. Lestrade looked at us thoughtfully for a moment.

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go, "Lestrade told us. I beamed at him before turning around and heading off in John's direction again. Sherlock took the blanket from his shoulders as we walked and bundled it up as we approached John who was standing at the side of a police car. Sherlock tossed the blanket through the open window of the car before he lifted up the police tape and ducked under it with me.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the four pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful," John started as we walked up to him. Sherlock and I looked at him for a moment in silence.

"Good shot," Sherlock complimented him quietly.

"Excellent marksmanship," I told John knowingly.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window," John said trying and utterly failing to look innocent

"Well, you'd know," I told John with a laugh as I nudged him in his good arm playfully. John gazed at us still trying unsuccessfully to not let his expression give him away.

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case," Sherlock told John as his eyes zeroed in on John's hands.

"I hear the paperwork is astronomical though. It's the only thing that keeps me from shooting Anderson,' I said crinkling my nose up as John cleared his throat and looked around nervously.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked him sounding actually concerned.

"Yes, of course I'm all right," John told him as if that was self-explanatory.

"Well, you did just kill someone," I pointed out to John with a slight quirk of my eyebrow.

"Yes, I ...," John said before he trailed off. "That's true, innit?" John asked us as he smiled. We watched him carefully for any signs of shock. "But he wasn't a very nice man," John finished. No signs of shock, he was fine then again, he had been in the military. Sherlock nodded in agreement as I hummed my own agreement.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock asked him thoughtfully.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie," John joked. Sherlock and I chuckled before we tuned and led John away from the crime scene.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" Sherlock joked back. John and I giggled as Sherlock smiled.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" John chastised us. I rolled my eyes at him before I slipped my arm into his.

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame us," I told John who shushed me quickly.

"Keep your voice down!" John hissed as we walked past Sergeant Donovan. "Sorry…it's just, um, nerves, I think," John told Donovan sheepishly. She shot him a dirty look.

"Sorry," Sherlock told her as I waved her a mock salute. John cleared his throat as we walked away from Donovan.

"You were gonna take those damned pills, weren't you?" John asked us suddenly. Sherlock and I turned back to him.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up," Sherlock told him and I snorted at his bold faced lie. He was going to take the pill whether I decided to play the game with him or not. John turned to me for my answer. I sighed before smiling at him again.

"Same as Sherlock, I knew you would turn up eventually. Of course you could have been a bit more punctual," I said as I shrugged. John looked between the both of us and shook his head in exasperation.

"No you didn't, neither of you knew I would show up. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your lives to prove you're clever," John shot back at us as he stopped walking causing me to have to come to a stop beside him.

"Why would we do that?" Sherlock asked him with one raised eyebrow.

"Because you're idiots," John told us. Sherlock and I smiled in delight, we had finally found someone who could understand us. After a moment Sherlock forced his smile down, but I was still beaming away.

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked us still smirking slightly.

"Starving," John told him as I nodded in agreement. We turned and started to walk again as I linked arms with the army doctor. We looked at each other and I grinned as I leaned into him and giggled. This had been quite a night and a marvellous first introduction.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle," Sherlock educated us. I looked up at the sound of a cat pulling up in front of us. I watched as the door to the black car opened and Mycroft stepped out of the back seat.

John stared at him "Sherlock, Lexi. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about," John hissed as Sherlock looked across at the man.

"I know exactly who that is," Sherlock told John as he walked closer to Mycroft and stopped looked at him angrily. John glanced round to gauge where the police were in case he needed to summon their help. I laughed before disentangling my arm from John's and walking causally over to Mycroft and Sherlock.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft said pleasantly enough.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock bit out angrily.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you. Lexi also texted me that she was in a situation that needed my attention. I was concerned about the both of you," Mycroft told Sherlock calmly.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'," Sherlock said snidely with a slight sneer.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?" Mycroft asked him. I sighed at the childish behaviour they were displaying.

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock told him his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy," Mycroft said and I watched John frown. I laughed which drew Mycroft's attention. John hadn't figured out they were brothers yet.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock asked him. Mycroft glowered back at him. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"Actually you both upset her," I told them and both men snapped their heads towards me. "She told me about your whole little feud. Mummy isn't happy with either of you."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John asked in exasperation as he tried to follow what was going on.

"Mother… our mother. Well mine and his. This is my brother, Mycroft," Sherlock told John as John stared back at Mycroft in amazement.

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock asked Mycroft suddenly.

"Losing it, in fact," Mycroft shot back with a tight lipped smile.

"He's your brother?!" John asked still sounding shocked.

'Of course he's my brother," Sherlock gritted out with a sigh.

"So he's not..." John began before trailing off.

"Not what?" Sherlock asked him as the brothers looked at John who shrugged in embarrassment.

"I dunno…criminal mastermind?" John asked, grimacing at having even suggested it. Sherlock looked at Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough."

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government," Mycroft told him and I snorted.

"Yeah Croft, like anyone is going to believe that," I told him as I patted his shoulder. He looked down at me despairingly.

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis," Sherlock told John. Mycroft sighed heavily one that I was altogether too used to and he only used when he was really exasperated.

"I still don't get how Lexi knows him," John pointed out and I looked over at him and shrugged.

"I've known Croft for four years now. I snuck into a government party, it was love at first sight," I told John laughing as Mycroft glared at me.

"Very amusing," Mycroft told me and I shrugged at him.

"I'm just emphasizing our close bond. We're so close you practically know what I am doing at any given moment of the day. No wait…you do," I said with a bit of sarcasm. Mycroft sighed again as Sherlock smirked.

"Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic," Sherlock told him before he walked away. John started to follow him, but then he turned back to Mycroft who had turned to watch Sherlock as he walked away.

"So, when…when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?" John asked him with a slight frown on his face.

"Yes, of course," Mycroft told him as I slipped my arm into Mycroft's.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners," Mycroft told him as he continued to watch Sherlock; retreating form. I laughed and shook my head. That would be something I would pay good money to see.

"Yeah ... no. God, no!" John said in horror as he half turned to follow Sherlock. "I-I'd better, um ..." He continued as he turned back to Anthea who was standing nearby with her eyes fixed in her BlackBerry. "Hello again," He told her. She looked up and smiled at him brightly.

"Hello," She said before she turned back to her phone.

"Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening," John told her. She stared at him as if she had never seen him before, but reacted as if she was trying to pretend that she remembered him.

"Oh!"

"Okay, good night," He told her including Mycroft in his glance before he turned and followed after Sherlock.

"Good night, Doctor Watson," Mycroft called to him before turning to me. "Would you like a ride back to your flat?" He asked me and I shook my head.

"No, I'm good. I'm actually going to go and catch up with them," I told Mycroft before I gave him a one armed hug which he stiffly returned. "By Anthea," I called over my shoulder.

"Bye Lexi," She called looking up from her phone with a beaming smile. I ran after Sherlock and John, pushing my way between them and sliding my arms through there's.

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock was saying as I caught up with them. I snorted at the conversation I had walked into.

"No you can't," John told him pointedly as he looked over at me with a grin on his face. I giggled and skipped between them, happy to have my boys, one on either side of me.

"Almost can. You did get shot, though," Sherlock said suddenly changing the subject.

"Sorry?" John asked him confused.

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder," John told us sheepishly.

"Your shoulder? How does getting shot in the shoulder give you a psychosomatic limp?" I asked John with a laugh and he shot me a withering look.

"Shoulder! I thought so," Sherlock cried triumphantly, ignoring what I had just said. To be fair I had a really good point. How did getting shot in the shoulder give someone a limp? It made no since at all. Of course it could have been related to PTSD, but John really didn't have any of that. He missed the battle.

"No you didn't," John told him and I rolled my eyes. Oh so he could answer him, but when I made a valid point I was ignored. Fine Watson, be that way.

"The left one," Sherlock told him.

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Yes you do," John told him with a laugh as he looked past me to find that Sherlock was smiling. "What are you so happy about?" John questioned him as he looked at me quizzically.

"Moriarty," Sherlock told John. I looked over at Sherlock and we shared a look of understanding.

"What's Moriarty?" John asked us curiously.

"I've absolutely no idea," Sherlock told him cheerfully.

Moriarty, the name rang a bell, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it before. It was defiantly Irish. Maybe it was someone I knew before or had met? They seemed to know who I was from back when I worked cases. Who would go to all these lengths? I wasn't so sure I wanted to find out who it was. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

* * *

**Mycroft's POV**

Back at the car, Anthea turned to Mycroft who was still watching the trio as they walked away. "Sir, shall we go?" Anthea asked him.

"Interesting, that soldier fellow," Mycroft remarked. Anthea looked up briefly at the departing trio before she turned her attention back to her BlackBerry. "He could be the making of my brother and Lexi…or make them worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active."

Anthea looked up from her beloved phone with a look of confusion. "Sorry, sir. Whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Alexandria MacKenna, and Doctor Watson," Mycroft told her before turning and slipping back into his car. There was one things Mycroft Holmes was certain of and that was that the game had only just begun.


	10. The Resident Sociopaths of 221B

**(A/N) Extra long own chapter showing a domestic scene in Baker Street. Also, we finally learn a bit about what happened to Lexi on the last case she worked and introducing another OC at the end of the chapter. I have about six OCs excluding Lexi in the story right now that I think all of you will end up liking and one has a dramatic influence on the third season which will be slightly changed for my purposes. This includes and OC version of Mary which will be introduced in season two chapters. Don't worry if you liked Mary in the third season, I'm basing her off of that with some twists. Just wait and see what I do, it's going to be fantastic. By the way Doctor Who references ahead, like in many chapters. I was in a good mood so I am posting the chapter early this week. As always, Lexi reminds us that any grammatical mistakes are not her fault and to blame Sherlock for them. Oh and does anyone know Moffat? 'Cos he needs to see this, this is how you write Moffat. You don't crush our fangirl, or boy, souls! A****lso, to note, I added the link to my Tumbler page on my author profile for all of you. Check it out, I'll be posting things on there regularly such as story updates and pictures of things I mention with their back stories. -KattieWatsonHolmes**

**Song that inspired that chapter: Demons by Imagine Dragons**

* * *

**Chapter Nine- The Resident Sociopaths of 221B**

**"My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to do so." ―Arthur Conan Doyle, **_**The Complete Sherlock Holmes ** _

**Lexi's POV**

An hour later found the three of us sitting in a corner of the Chinese restaurant at the end of Baker Street, the Orient Express. It was just past one in the morning and I sat beside Sherlock and John chewing slowly on some Lo Mein noodles. Sherlock was picking at his Moo shu pork, but John was eating with gusto. After a few minutes he was the first to break the companionable silence we had settled in.

"So you know Mycroft?" John asked me as he chewed on a piece of chicken. I shrugged. Knew was a relative term. Sure, I knew him but I didn't know him. Mycroft wasn't one to have long discussions on personal matters. I knew a few things about his childhood from talking with Mummy Holmes once or twice, but every meeting with him stayed strictly business like.

"Yeah. I was working on a case when we first met. You might remember it from the news. The government worker who murdered his wife after he found out she was cheating on him with someone else in the government. It was one of my last few cases," I explained as I sat back in my chair and pushed my food away from me. "I found out about this huge government party and managed to sneak in. Everyone else bought that I was the daughter of the French Ambassador, but Mycroft saw right through me. He walked over to me and started deducing me before he showed me to the door. After that I had lovely black cars following me around the city until I met him for a second time. He does love to be dramatic, Mummy said he always was as a child," I finished, flashing a smile in Sherlock direction. He smirked back at me, ah we were getting somewhere. He was fine talking about Mycroft so long as we were making comments at his expense.

"You know there mother then?" John asked me with a laugh. I giggled back as Sherlock glared at me. Okay so apparently knowing your flatmates mother was a little odd, especially when you had only just met. I blamed it on Mycroft for not leaving me alone.

"I've never met her in person, but I have talked with her over the phone. Mostly we talked about Croft. She told me all about what he was like as a child. I've never seen a man turn such a delightful shade of red before," I remarked as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the text before sending a quick thank you in reply. Mycroft had come through for me and gotten all my old case stuff moved to Sherlock's and now my new flat. I stood up in excitement wanting to get my hands on all of my old stuff that I had Mycroft pack away for me.

"Where's the fire?" John asked me with a raised eyebrow as I slipped my phone in my pocket and walked around the two men heading for the door.

"The flat," I told him with a grin as I pushed open the door. I started off down the street towards the flat, pulling my jacket closer to me as the chilly night air assaulted me again. I hadn't gotten far before Sherlock and John fell into step beside me. We walked the length of Baker Street in silence and when we came to the door of 221B, Sherlock knocked on the door.

We waited on the door step for a few seconds before Mrs Hudson let us in side tittering over us and about the cold outside. She claimed we would catch our deaths if we stayed out there any longer, a comment which made Sherlock and I smirk. I took the stairs two at a time as I raced up to the flat and walked through the open living room door. The box was waiting for me on Sherlock's chair and I rushed over to it. Inside was my chemistry equipment and some of my old equipment that I used to bring on cases as well as a few of my case files from my last few cases. What caught my eye more was the black case leaning up against the chair, I bent to pick it up and rested it against the top of the box before clicking open the latches. I pulled out my polished viola that Mycroft had brought along for me. I noted that it looked like Mycroft had it cleaned before bringing it over. I smiled as I lifted it to my shoulder and drew the bow across the strings experimentally. It had been a while since I last played. I smiled in satisfaction as I placed the instrument back in its case. He had it tuned too. He must have known that I would want to get into playing it again.

"You play the violin too?" I heard John ask behind me. I turned around with a smile on my face as I found John and Sherlock watching me from the doorway. Sherlock was looking at the box of stuff Mycroft had brought me, his eyes focusing in on the chemistry equipment and case files. He seemed more interested in my viola however.

"The viola actually. Slightly bigger than the violin and different tone to it, almost like a cello," I told him as I moved towards the door, pulling my coat and scarf off in the process. Sherlock had already removed his coat and scarf and had hung them up behind the door. He held his hands out and gestured for me to hand my things over. I gave him my coat and he hung it up behind the door with his.

"I would suggest that you both stay the night here. It's too late to get a cab," Sherlock said as he moved through the living room and took my box off his chair before sitting down on it and adopting his prayer pose. I knew it wasn't going to take him long before he got all OCD and had to move it. John shuffled by the door as I flung myself down on the couch and started to undo my braid. "There's a room upstairs and the other is downstairs. You can decide which ones you take," Sherlock told us before falling into silence. I knew he probably wasn't going to say anything else for a while.

"Which room do you want Lexi?" John asked me gentleman like as I finger combed through my long tresses. When I looked up I was surprised to find that both Sherlock and John were following my movements. "Could I have the downstairs room? I have bad insomnia and I don't want to keep you up if I'm moving around. Unless you think it would be better for you down here with your leg," I offered up as I threw my hair over my shoulder and laid down on the couch propping my feet up on the back of it. If Mrs Hudson saw me now she would probably be scolding me about sitting properly like a lady.

"Er no, that's fine," John told me and I shrugged as I rolled onto my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows. I smirked at him before turning to Sherlock who was still watching me closely. I fixed a look on him before springing to my feet quickly. My action made John jump slightly in surprise and I chuckled as I made for the hallway. I would have to remember to not sneak up on John or move too quickly around him. He had PTSD and that kind of stuff would startle him. So, no more attempting to move as silently as the grave, at least in the flat.

"Well boys, I'll see you tomorrow," I told them as I walked around John ready for some sleep. "Oíche mhaith agus codladh sámh," (Good night and sweet dreams) I called over my shoulder as I headed down the hallway. I opened one door on the left side of the hall and saw a dark, but seemingly cluttered room. I closed the door immediately not wanting to snoop around Sherlock's room. That could come later on when I had known him for a while. I crossed the hall and opened the opposite door and stepped into the moderately sized room.

"Good night Lexi," I heard John call as I closed the door to my new room. I smiled as I stood by the closed door for a moment. I sighed and laughed to myself as I turned around and flicked the light on.

My new room was dominated by a full size bed and a chest of drawers. One wall was papered with the same wallpaper that was in the living room, but the other walls were painted a warm golden colour. There was one large window with a wide sill that faced the street casting a dim glow from the street lights into the room that was easily blocked by the burgundy curtains Mrs Hudson had around the window. I inspected the small, empty closet. It would be passible. I was sure that Mycroft would probably get his hands on my room when he moved everything in for me. Not everything would stay the way it was now after he got done with it. The homey quilt on the bed demanded for someone to snuggle underneath it and who was I to resist the call of comfort?

I kicked off my shoes and dropped heavily on the bed, curling up under the quilt in the fetal position before giggling and stretching out to my full length. This had been the single most ridiculous day of my life and that was saying something. To conclude, I had met a man named Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, who besides a few slightly unsavoury personality traits seemed like someone who I could get along with. If anything we had sort of fallen into a companionship that stemmed from understanding each other. I deduced him and he deduced me, we didn't have to discuss what each other found, but we knew enough about each other. He was like me in the regards that he was a former addict and bored with the normal tedious aspects of life. Then, there was John Watson, a doctor and ex-military man. John was a gentleman, kind, and caring. He way loyal which was proven by the fact that he had realized we were in danger, rushed across London to find us, and had killed a man to protect us. He was your ultimate definition of a good guy. Somehow he seemed to have survived one night with Sherlock and me. There was hope for him yet.

I had to thank Sherlock. He changed my mind. He got me back into the cases. Of course part of my decision to go to the crime scene in the first place was because I wanted to see him work and I wanted to show off my own skills a bit. Whatever the initial reason I decided to go, I had let myself get invested in the case. Part of me wanted to say that this was the last time I let myself get pulled into one of Sherlock's cases, but I knew I would be lying to myself if I said that. My run throughout London was proof enough that I was back whether I wanted to be or not. The thrill of the chase…that was a better high than any drug could produce. The ability to deduce again, to solve a case. I had forgotten just how that felt.

A knock resounded on my door and I peeked out from under the covers before bouncing off of the bed and bounding over to the door. I opened it as quickly and as dramatically as possible. I was greeted with the sight of the slightly disgruntled, curly haired consulting detective. "What's up Lock?" I asked him as I leaned casually against the door frame, pulling a straight, serious, almost Mycroft like face. He grimaced at me before straightening up to his full height and frowning. It wasn't my fault I was heavily sleep deprived and therefore a little crazier than normal. I was running on caffeine and a whole lot of sugar. Sherlock just shoved something into my hands before he turned on his heel and strode away dramatically, his dressing gown which he had apparently changed into billowing behind him like a cape. "Good night to you too!" I called back to him cheerfully before I shut my door again. I walked back over to my bed and flopped down before I realized what it was Sherlock had given me, a pair of blue sleep pants and a plain grey shirt that he probably used as and undershirt under his dress shirts. I smiled at his friendly gesture before I stood up and shrugged out of my jumper. I threw it on the end of the bed before I pulled off my kami. I was about to unhook my bra when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I frowned as I reached and pulled it out, unlocking it quickly.

"_**Please close the curtains before changing. -MH**_" The text read, I looked up towards the window and shook my head. Of course Mycroft was looking in through the windows or at least his man in Havana was. I made a point of crossing over to the window in just my bra and pulled the curtains forcefully closed. I wasn't at all concerned of standing in front of the window in only my bra. I wasn't self-conscious like some people were. That's not to say that I openly displayed my body to anyone, I was just comfortable in my own skin. I crossed back over to the bed and picked up my phone where I had thrown it.

"_**Next time tell them not to watch Croft. I'm sure it was pretty clear what I was going to do," **_I texted back before setting my phone on silent and putting it on the night table by the bed. I took off my bra and shrugged on the shirt Sherlock had lent me before I pulled off my jeans and pulled on the sleep pants. They were the right size, but about our inches too long. Still, it was the thought that counted and the fact that Sherlock had thought to lend me some night clothes made it even better. I crossed back over to the door and slipped outside into the hall.

I nearly ran into John as he headed up to his own bed. He froze like a deer caught in the head lights when he saw me. I noticed that his eyes were drawn to my arm and I looked down. Oh, right…my tattoo. "Um, I didn't know you had a tattoo," John said as he pointed at my arm. Well Watson, that was because I've been wearing jumpers since we met.

"I have several," I told him truthfully as he shuffled uncomfortably. I held up my arm so he could see this one closer. The words 'To sleep perchance to dream' were tattooed on my left forearm along with a scrolling design starting at my elbow and ending at my wrist.

"It's good…very nice," John offered as he looked closer at it. I smiled at his awkwardness about the situation. Some of his awkwardness might have been because we had only just met and I was standing in front of him without a bra on. It wasn't exactly noticeable, but I wasn't hiding the fact either like most women would by crossing their arms in front of their chest. That brought more attention to what they wanted to draw attention away from. It seemed rather counterproductive. "Er…good night. I think I'm going to…," John said trailing off as he pointed behind me towards the stairs that led to his bedroom.

"Night John," I told him, patting him on the shoulder before I flatted myself against my door so he could get past me. He only looked back once before he headed up the stairs and I shook my head with a soft smile on my face before I slipped into the bathroom in the hall.

I washed my face and rinse my mouth out with some of Sherlock's mouth wash I found in the drug cabinet over the sink. He kept the bathroom rather tidy and surprisingly rather clean, though I had a sneaking suspicion that that was Mrs. Hudson's doing. I turned off the light in the bathroom and padded back over to my bedroom. I peeked my head into the living room on the way to see what Sherlock was up to. He was in his chair with his hands in the prayer position again and his violin resting in his lap. I nodded in satisfaction before slipping back into my bedroom. I didn't know what made me want to check on him, but I felt that sometimes he just needed someone to watch out for him, to let him know that they cared. I crawled under the quilt and snuggled into the pillows. I was so exhausted that it wasn't even funny at this point. It had been at least three days since I had had some proper sleep. I had slept a solid two to three hours a night for three days. I sighed heavily before cuddling my pillow into my chest. Maybe tonight would be different. My eyes grew heavier and heavier before sleep overtook me. I slept soundly for a while before my peace was interrupted.

_I was in a warehouse, it was dark, but I knew backup was on the way. He was there like I thought he was going to be. I confidently strode forward and announced my presence. This was easy, a simple case to solve. I would keep him engaged and then soon Lestrade would be there to clap him in iron. Another case done and solved. I was feeling a little antsy. It had been a while since I had last given myself a dose, but I could take one so close to being around Greg. It was hard enough as it was hiding it from him. I kept the killer engaged, but he was losing interest quickly as I ran out of ways to draw his attention. I waited, but the backup never came and he knew this. I only had a second to scream before he descended on me. I screamed once in horror before I blacked out. _

I woke up covered in sweat and shaking. Damn, another night's sleep ruined by the dreams. I groaned and rolled over, it was nearly four in the morning. Well, that was as good as it was going to get. I got out of bed knowing that I wasn't going to get any more sleep. I stripped out of my sweat soaked night clothes and pulled my jeans back on. I rehooked my bra and pulled my kami on over it before slipping out of my room and into the hall. As I padded into the living room I piled up my bed mussed hair into a messy bun. When I walked into the living room I froze upon seeing Sherlock in the same position he had been in nearly three hours ago. It didn't even look like he had moved an inch. Okay…creepy. Really creepy. I tiptoed over to his chair and bent down in front of him waving a hand in front of his closed eyes. He was still breathing so he was alive, but I wasn't sure if he was sleeping or not. Whatever, he wasn't dead so I would just leave him to his own devices.

I picked up my viola case and crossed over to the coffee table. I fell to my knees as I put the case on the table and unlocked it. I pulled out my viola and stood crossing back over to the window. I peeked back at Sherlock who still seemed out of it before I raised the viola to my shoulder. I knew John was still sleeping upstairs so I decided to play a soothing melody that would hopefully not wake him up. I used to play all the time after the nightmares. It was calming and helped me think things through. I settled on You Raise Me Up, one of my favourite pieces to play because it reminded me of home or at least Ireland. Growing up I never had a home or at least somewhere I would call home. Ireland was still my home though, no matter how much I loved England. England was my mother's home country, but for me, a part of me would always be connected to the Emerald Isle. I ran the bow across the strings in the first few measures, smiling in delight over the soft sounds produced. I closed my eyes and let the music speak the words I couldn't, letting them fill the air with the emotions I was feeling. I frowned suddenly as I heard another melody join mine. I turned away from the window and saw that Sherlock had broken out of his trance. He was still sitting in his chair facing away from me, but he now had his bow in hand and was playing along with me. I continued, turning back to the window with a soft smile on my face. When I finished the song I stood still for a few minutes as if listening to the echo of the last few notes as the hung in the air of the flat. When I was satisfied, I crossed over to the coffee table and put my viola back in its case.

I peeked over my shoulder and saw that Sherlock was watching me carefully. I stood to my full height before turning around and crossing over to John's chair. I sat down pulling my legs up to my chest as I stared back at Sherlock. We sat like that for a few minutes in silence, just studying each other before Sherlock broke the silence. "What did he mean, the cabbie, about your accident?"

I sighed before smirking at Sherlock. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist that question," I accused Sherlock before I set my feet back on the floor. I watched Sherlock's eyes flit over my exposed skin zeroing in on my tattoos. "How about I get to that after I answer some of your other questions I know your dying to ask," I offered to him. Somehow, I felt comfortable talking to him about this. I knew that he wouldn't judge me.

"Agreed," Sherlock relented. "How did you learn to make deductions?" He asked me as he leaned back in his chair. I laughed slightly at that as I slung my legs over the arm of the chair and settled in for a while.

"My childhood wasn't a happy one. Let's just say, I didn't make friends well. I'm sure you can understand that," I told him and we share a look for a long moment before Sherlock nodded at me slowly. "Anyway, I spent a lot of time just observing people. I learnt how to make deductions from what I observed. I got better as I got older," I explained to Sherlock who nodded thoughtfully again before frowning.

"And how did you begin to work for the police?"

"Well, I had been working as a chemist. I have several degrees, but my main ones are in Criminology and Chemistry. I wanted a change, I got bored. There was a case the police were working on and they were no closer to solving it than Anderson is to actually having a bright idea. I walked into Scotland Yard and talked with Lestrade, gave him everything I had on the case that I had found out through the papers. When I was talking with him there was another body. He let me come to the crime scene. It didn't take me long to figure out who the killer was. He took me on as a consultant after that case."

"And the tattoos?" He asked me with interest as he gestured to my right collarbone where one of my larger tattoos was located.

"Well each of them I got after a milestone," I explained as I stood up from my chair. "This one," I said as I lifted up my kami exposing the skin of my hip. I missed the look that this earned from Sherlock."I got after I finally moved away from home," I told Sherlock as he studied the writing across my right hip bone. 'We accept the love we think we deserve.' He raised an eyebrow at the choice of wording, but made no comment on it. "This one," I told him, moving on, as I lowered my shirt and moved the collar of my shirt so he could see the one on my collarbone better. "I got after my first case." The tattoo on my collar bone reached up to my shoulder. It said 'Intake the future, exhale the past' and had four birds flying away from the script and across my shoulder. "And this one," I said as I showed him my left arm. "I got after my accident," I finished as I showed him the tattoo that John had noticed earlier.

"And your accident?" Sherlock pressed again. I sighed and turned away from him. I took a deep breath before looking back at him. His eyes were sharp as he studied my reaction. Well, there would never be a good time to tell him. I had said I would tell him too and I wanted to. I didn't want him to hear it through Anderson or Donovan who would definitely say something at some point. They had already made enough reference to it and then the cabbie mentioned it too.

"That is a rather long story, I should start with explaining a few things first," I told him and he nodded to show that he understood. "Okay well…it starts with my addiction. As I said my childhood wasn't too happy. When I got older, life got worse. Thankfully, I started Uni early so I got away from home. I was already living on my own at nineteen. No one would hire me that young even if I was smarter than everyone else. I worked odd jobs until I found someone willing to give me a chance and I became a Chemistry professor at a smaller college. I don't remember exactly how, but I got introduced to cocaine. The high was worth the negative effects on my body, I could think, I was unhindered. I moved to London after I turned twenty four. Then I started working for Lestrade. I tried to quit, but it wasn't easy. It wasn't like quitting smoking. I hid it from Lestrade, but it was difficult. He seemed to know what was going on, at least I think he did," I explained to Sherlock before pausing to take a breath. He sat in silence just watching me closely and letting me talk without interruption. "My last case, the reason I left. I was working on a serial killer case for Lestrade. There had already been four victims, he was desperate," I started again before Sherlock finally interrupted me.

"What case was this, the specifics?" He asked me as he picked up his violin and plucked at a few of the strings. I looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing my monologue.

"Four victims, all women, all mutilated and decapitated," I supplied and he nodded as if this confirmed something he was thinking.

"Mmm I remember it. I wanted to work the case, but Lestrade refused, said he already had someone working on the case. I was furious. I demanded he tell me who he had working for him but he refused to tell me, only would say they had everything under control," Sherlock filled me in as he picked up his bow and played a few low notes.

"You had just gotten clean, you wanted to come back, but Lestrade wouldn't take you because I was there. When I left he let you come back," I stated as I snorted. "He was desperate, desperate enough to swallow his pride and ask for your help."

"Continue," Sherlock told me with a nod as the only indication I was right.

"Alright, well, I figure out who the killer was, obviously. I knew we were going to lose him if we didn't move quickly. I found out where he was going to be and I decided to go and meet him. Lestrade had left for Scotland Yard so I told Anderson and Donovan to call Lestrade and tell him where I was headed and to bring back up. I found the killer in the warehouse I thought he was hiding out in. I engaged him. I tried to stall him until backup came, but…."

"But it never came. This case though, when it was solved, it said in the papers that a girl had been held captive for three days, the last victim who was rescued by the police." Sherlock interrupted. I nodded at him slowly. I watched the wheels turning in Sherlock's head before he finally put two and two together. "Oh," He finally said as he figured it out. I laughed bitterly and nodded at him in confirmation of his deduction.

"Anderson and Dovovan didn't believe me so they didn't bother to tell Lestrade what I asked them to. The killer captured me and was holding me in another part of London. It was only after I failed to turn up again that the dynamic duo decided to say something to Lestrade. Long story short, I was held for three days. He tortured me, broke three ribs and my left leg, and fractured my wrist. Then he found out about my addiction. Decided to play a game. He gave me the drug I was craving, but he was a textbook idiot," I continued explaining as I got up and crossed back over to the window. I wrapped my arms around me as I watched the sky growing lighter outside the window.

"He gave you too much," Sherlock stated. I nodded as I looked out of the window, staring at my reflection in the glass. My eyes had dark circles around them due to lack of sleep. I looked even paler than normal too.

"I almost overdosed. Mycroft ended up being the one to find out where I was. Lestrade had no clue how to find me. Mycroft got me to the hospital in time. That's when it all came out about my addiction. The killer, well, he didn't get away so easily after Mycroft's men got a hold of him. Mycroft was livid, he hadn't known about my addiction. I was good at hiding it, even from him and his deductions. Lestrade couldn't keep me on after that and Mycroft forced me into rehab. I fought him, said it was my life and I could do what I wanted. Then, I realized he was doing me a favour. He got me the help I was too proud to get myself. It was the first time someone cared what happened to me. Well, the second time. Mycroft got me back on my feet. I owe him for that. It wouldn't have even mattered if Lestrade let me go back or not, that last case was it for me," I finished before I crossed the room again and sat in John's chair heavily.

"That's why you hold such animosity against Anderson and Donovan. I wondered why my brother seemed so interested in you," Sherlock remarked thoughtfully as he quickly stood and went to the window, looking out of it, filling the position I had left.

"He told me he saw potential in me and he didn't like to see it go to waste. I never understood him before when he told me that he did what he did because he regretted not doing enough before. He meant with you," I told Sherlock who turned back to look at me with a look of annoyance on his face.

"He did always like to butt in. Never could leave well enough alone," He quipped before turning back to the window.

"He means well, though I understand you. He is a bloody pain in the arse some times. I've learnt to deal with it by enacting my own revenge for his meddling," I told Sherlock with a laugh as I got up and stretched. John would most likely not be getting up for a while. It was surprisingly just after six in the morning. That had taken a lot longer to explain than I thought it would. "Enough about that though, you should get some sleep. You've been sitting in that weird position for a while and if my deductions are right you haven't slept in three days."

"Neither have you," Sherlock quickly shot back acting like a child who didn't like being told to go to bed.

"Yes, but I actually have a legit reason as to why I'm not sleeping. Now you go get some sleep before we have to go meet Lestrade down at Scotland Yard," I ordered him like a mother hen. He turned away from the window and narrowed his eyes in a glare at me.

"I'm not a child, you can't order me to bed," Sherlock said looking very much like a child at the moment as he crossed his arms defensively and pouted at me. I looked at him pointedly before pointing to the hall.

"Bed now, get your skinny arse in that room before I come over there and drag you to it. I don't care if you sleep or not, but at least lie there and make an effort too. I'm going to go back to bed," I ordered Sherlock as I walked over to him and pushed him towards the hallway. I was a lot stronger than I looked and managed to push him half way across the living room before he shook me off.

"Fine, I'll lie down, but I'm not going to sleep," Sherlock warned me as we entered the hallway together. I stopped with my hand on my door and looked back at Sherlock rolling my eyes.

"Surrre," I drawled out, rolling my eyes at him. "Keep telling yourself that Lock," I told him with a nod before I slipped back into my room and closed the door. I didn't bother changing back into my bed clothes and just slipped under the quilt, curling back up around my pillow.

I woke up nearly two hours later feeling slightly more rested than before. Explaining everything to Sherlock had honestly helped lift the weight off my chest and made sleeping easier. I stretched with a yawn before slipping out into the hall it was almost nine and from the quietness in the flat I assumed that John was still sleeping. I slipped into the bathroom and tidied up as best as I could before I left the bathroom and tiptoed up the stairs, opening John's door a crack. He was still asleep and snoring like a hibernating bear. I stifled a giggle when I saw his sleeping form. He was hugging his pillow like it was a teddy bear. I left him to sleep and padded down the stairs with all the grace of a feline. I checked on Sherlock as I passed by his room. I smiled smugly as the sounds of soft snores greeted my ears. Sure he wasn't going to sleep. I snorted before closing his door again. I returned to my room and pulled on my jumper from the day before and my boots before slipping into the living room and crossing over to the door. I bundled up in my jacket and scarf and grabbed my case bag from where I had left it before I quietly made my way down the stairs to the front door.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to 221A opened and Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat. "Off out?" She asked me cheerfully as I slung my scarf on and pulled out my mittens.

"Yeah, the boys are sleeping so I figured I would slip by my flat for some fresh clothes. I have a feeling I will be running around again today. I'm going to stop by the shop on my way back. Do you need anything?" I asked the woman as I slung my case bag over my head and readjusted it.

"Could you get me some more tea biscuits? They seem to be the only thing I can get Sherlock to eat," Mrs. Hudson tittered in a very motherly fashion. I knew that she cared for Sherlock like he was a son. I loved Mrs. Hudson already.

"Of course Mrs. Hudson and don't worry, I'll get him to eat something later," I promised her I turned to leave before she called me back.

"Have you eaten anything yet dear? You look a little peaky," She asked me kindly. I laughed quietly, I didn't want to be too loud and end up waking the consulting detective sleeping upstairs.

"No, I really didn't want to mess with the kitchen too much. Heaven only knows what Sherlock is keeping in the cupboards," I told Mrs. Hudson. I knew he was keeping eyeballs in the microwave. While I wasn't bothered with body parts having used them in my own experiments, I wasn't overly fond of the idea of trying to find food in his kitchen this morning. Messing with his experiments didn't seem like a way to get on Sherlock's good side nor was the food probably eatable. All of it was its own sort of science experiment.

"You wait right here. I just made a pot of tea, I'll bring you a cup to take with you. It's a chilly morning out there," Mrs. Hudson told me in a commanding motherly fashion before slipping back into her flat. She came back out a minute later with a to-go cup of tea for me.

"You are a saint Mrs. Hudson," I told the woman as I took the steaming brew from her. I kissed her on the cheek before I rushed over to the door. "If Sherlock or John get up before I come back tell them I just popped out and I'll be back soon. I don't think they'll be up for a while though," I told Mrs. Hudson who assured me she would pass along the message for me. I burst out of Baker Street and into the cold, London morning air. I was thankful for the warm cup of tea to warm my cold hands on as I stepped up to the curb and hailed an approaching taxi which passed me without stopping. I swore loudly in Russian before I started walking down Baker Street to find another cab. Just as I was heading away from 221 a black car pulled around the corner of the street and glided to a stop in front of me. I smiled and opened the back door and slid inside the toasty warm car. I was met by the face of Mycroft's personal assistant Anthea.

"Morning Anthea," I greeted her as the car pulled back onto the road. The driver asked me where I was headed and I gave him the address to my flat before settling into my seat in the nice warmth of the vehicle. Being friends with the British government had its perks.

"Morning Lexi," Anthea said as she looked up from her BlackBerry with a smile. Anthea and I were sort of friends, mostly due to the fact that we saw each other a lot. Mycroft and I were close. No matter how much he said caring wasn't an advantage, I knew that was a lie. He cared about me enough to watch out for me and he watched out for Sherlock too. I understood what he meant though. Sometimes, caring wasn't an advantage because when you cared you got hurt.

"So how is the British government this morning? Hellish I assume," I asked her with a laugh as I lounged in my seat. Anthea actually dropped her phone for a second to answer me. I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't always texting or doing something important. On a few occasions I had caught sight of something that looked an awful lot like Tetris on her screen.

"He was complaining about paperwork again. Nice one last night, I don't think I've ever seen him blush before. He turned such a lovely shade of red," Anthea confided in me with a laugh.

"Don't let him hear you say that. In my defence, it was perfectly clear what I intended to do. If he doesn't want to catch an eye full he shouldn't be watching," I told Anthea with a shrug. It wouldn't be the first time Mycroft saw something he didn't need to see. I always told him that is he stopped being a peeping tom with his cameras he wouldn't have to worry about it.

"Men," Anthea supplied as she resumed her work on her phone. I erupted in laughter which she joined in.

"Aye, men. You should have heard Sherlock this morning, he was so stubborn, refused to go to bed. I checked on him before I left and low and behold the man's asleep. He's just like Mycroft no matter how much they try to deny they are alike. I'm starting to think it's just a Holmes' thing."

"And a Lexi thing," Anthea told me with a grin as we pulled to a stop in front of my flat.

"Yeah, well…I'm just me. Anyway thanks for the ride. I'm going to be a while so I'll find my way back to the flat okay," I told Anthea as I got out of the car. She looked up at me pointedly from her frown. Oh no, not that look. That look never meant something good for me.

"I'm supposed to wait for you," She told me and I groaned.

"He's not going to let me take a cab for a while will he? Seriously, there's no gang of killer cabbies he has to worry about," I whined and Anthea threw me a pitying look.

"Sorry, boss's orders, I can take you to his office next if you want to complain to him about it," Anthea offered with an evil grin.

"I'm taking you up on that offer," I warned Anthea pointedly. "Do not tell him I'm coming either. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be down," I called over my shoulder as I ran into the building and up to my flat. My landlord tried to stop me at the bottom of the stairs, but I waved him off hurriedly. "Not now Larry, I have an appointment with the British government," I shouted down to him as I slipped inside my flat and locked the door behind me, dragging the chain across the door.

I flew through my flat like a tornado, grabbing clothes from my wardrobe and making my way into my bathroom. I attacked my rats nest that sort of resembled hair before I slipped into the shower. I scrubbed my body as if my life depended upon it before stumbling out of the shower and hurriedly drying off. I pulled on a pair of light wash jeans and a white kami before I finished off my outfit with a red plaid shirt which I left unbuttoned. I pulled my boots on again before hurrying into my bathroom where I dried my hair as quickly as humanely possible before I braided up two sides of my hair and pinned a white silk rose clip into them to hold back my long locks from falling in my face. As I raced out of my flat and back down to the waiting car, I pulled my trench coat and scarf back on.

I made it down to the car in record time and slid into the seat next to Anthea again. She looked up from her phone with a smirk on her face. "Eleven minutes and fifty-two seconds," She informed me as the driver pulled away from the street as soon as I slammed the door shut.

"New record!" I cheered as I patted my coat pocket. I frowned when my search didn't procure what I was searching form. Damn, I left my phone back at the flat. "Can you text Mycroft and tell him not to have a conniption. I left my phone back at the flat," I told Anthea as I sighed. He got worried whenever I didn't text him back right away. He had a good reason to given that the first time I never answered him back was because I had been kidnapped. I knew it annoyed him when I ignored his texts like I had yesterday.

"Just did, he said he already knew and to remember it in the future," Anthea informed me and I snorted.

"Thanks dad," I muttered sarcastically under my breath before I looked up at the driver. "Know what, I don't feel like seeing Mycroft today. Can you just drop me off at the Tesco's near Baker Street?"

The driver agreed and he took off for Baker Street again. It didn't take long to get there and I said goodbye to Anthea before I jumped out of the car and flew into Tesco's. I grabbed everything I thought we would need given that it didn't look like Sherlock had shopped in a while. I picked up Mrs. Hudson's biscuits along with anything else I thought the boys might like to eat. I decided to make breakfast for the boys when I got back to the flat. I'd feed them something before we had to head down to Scotland Yard to give our statements to Greg. We'd have to decide on what to tell Greg about the "mysterious" shooter and how John knew where to turn up, just after the police arrived. I did the flight of the bumblebee through the store before hailing a cab back to Baker Street. The cabbie was nice and helped me load everything into the car. Mrs. Hudson let me inside the flat when I got back to Baker Street and informed me that Sherlock and John were still sleeping. She helped me get everything up to the flat and unload it onto the counter before she returned to the ground floor.

The minute I opened the refrigerator door I was meet by the sight of bloody fingers in a bag on one of the dinner plates. There was also some half mouldy food and milk that was expired. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Well, living with Sherlock was going to be interesting. Not that I never experimented with human body parts, but is never stored them with my food. I guess now I did.I grabbed the bin and proceeded to clean out the refrigerator. I found same cleaning solution under the sink which looked like it had never been used before and, with a small army of paper towels, I attacked the refrigerator. Once I was assured it was thoroughly sanitized I located a bucket under the sink that looked to have never been used for cleaning and labelled it with a sharpie 'Experiments.' I picked up the bag of bloody fingers and dropped them unceremoniously into the bucket before loading it on the bottom shelf. I put away all the food before it could spoil, but left out everything I would need to make a traditional Irish breakfast. I loved British food, but the food from home was so much better.

I took off my plaid shirt and threw it over the back of John's chair from the door to the kitchen before I went in search of what I would need. I found a cutting board and a knife and set about peeling three potatoes. I put them on to boil as I opened a jar of beans and found a pot in the most obscure place. I would have to do a little kitchen redesign, but nothing to terrible. I would appease Sherlock by setting aside a cupboard just for him. I put the beans on to boil and somehow managed to find a frying pan, in the pantry, which I dumped some kippers and bacon in. I started to fry them up as I danced around the kitchen to the tune of my own song.

I was actually happy this morning and I hummed to myself as I cooked. I found three plates and washed them in the sink, I wasn't taking any chance, before I set the kettle to boil for some morning tea. I heard shuffling outside of the kitchen and danced over to the door with skillet in hand as I pushed the bacon and kippers around with a spatula. I was met by a blinking, awake, mussed up haired consulting detective who wore bed pants and a grey shirt like the one he had given me, and a blue bathrobe. "Good morning," I greeted Sherlock in my thick Irish accent as I popped back into the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway a second later peering at the stove curiously which I assumed he had never used or either didn't know how to. Sherlock didn't seem like the sort of person you would catch cooking.

"You're cooking," He observed as he stood still, his bathrobe hanging limp around his tall, slender frame. I rolled my eyes fondly as I continued to push the kippers and bacon around the pan as I looked over at the detective. This was altogether domestic.

"A brilliant deduction," I teased still not bothering to conceal my accent. It was morning, I was still tired, and I really didn't care to try and mask it at this point. They both knew I was Irish so it wouldn't surprise them to also learn that I had an accent when I wasn't concealing it.

"You changed clothes," Sherlock stated and I laughed heartily. Was he always like this after he woke up? Couldn't he not deduce the causes of both actions? Clearly he needed his morning nicotine patch before he made any sense.

"Another brilliant deduction Lock," I told him as I set the skillet back on the stove and danced around the kitchen. I returned to the door with a mug of tea in hand which I gave to Sherlock. "Go sit, I'll bring everything out in a few minutes," I ordered him as I forcibly turned him around and pushed him towards the kitchen door.

"Not hungry," He told me before he dramatically swept out of the kitchen. The sound of a body dropping heavily on the couch sounded from the living room soon after he left.

"You'll eat it and you'll like it. And you better not have had the tea in your hand when you flung yourself on the couch. I'm not cleaning it up if you sloshed it all over the place!" I called over my shoulder as I plated the kippers and bacon and rinsed out the pan before I started frying some eggs up. I heard yawn behind me and was greeted with the sight of a yawning John who was stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning John. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes," I told him as I flitted around the kitchen and brought him his tea. I remembered the way he liked it from when we had lunch with Mike.

"Ta," He told me sleepily as he took his mug and trundled into the living room. I shook my head and smiled at the two men as I plated up the rest of the food. I made extra toast knowing that if anything I might be able to entice Sherlock to eat at least a bit of that. I precariously balanced a plate on my mug of tea and a plate on my other arm and carried the three of them into the living room. As I thought, Sherlock was curled up in the fetal position on the couch with his back to the living room and John was sitting in his chair drink his tea as he read yesterday's paper.

"Food," I announced with a smile. John put his paper down and took the plate that was balanced on my arm. I set Sherlock's plate down on the coffee table before I ran back to the kitchen for silverware and the jam I had bought. I handed both the jam and a fork and knife to John as I passed him before I turned around and realized in the course of my absence Sherlock had moved to his chair and had his plate of food balanced on his knees. He picked at the eggs uninterestedly, but John dug into his food with gusto. The man certainly seemed to like to eat. I had deduced that he was partial to jam, particularly Strawberry. Jam, tea, and jumpers, he was a man of simple creature comforts.

I put my tea and plate on the coffee table before I returned to the kitchen. I grabbed the plate of extra toast and brought it back with me into the living room. I placed it on the desk by Sherlock's chair before deftly moving and picking up my plate and tea and going to sit at the other desk. Why one man needed two desks was beyond me. I took the time as I chewed on some fried egg to study the room a little closer. The day before provided very little time to actually look over the entire room. After that it had been a lot of running around and solving a case and my brain power was better used towards the work rather than observing the room.

On the wall above the desk I was currently sitting at was a bison skull which had head phones on it. I quirked my eyebrow at the randomness of the "modern art" piece. Books cluttered nearly every inch of the room. Mycroft would be hard pressed to find room for all of my books too. I could have moved on my own, but I knew that at this moment Anthea was probably overseeing the packing up of my old flat. We would later find that we had a "surprise" visit while we were out and my stuff would magically be dispersed throughout the flat as if I had always lived here. The skull poster on the wall was quirky for Sherlock and clashed horribly with the wallpaper which I assumed was his intent. The composing stand by the window made me imagine Sherlock standing there playing as he observed the people walking down Baker Street, deducing them as they passed by the window. The most interesting piece seemed to be the preserved bat pinned in a shadow box on the mantle. I liked the kind of cluttered organized mess that over took the flat. I wasn't a neat person, except in the kitchen that is. My kitchen was immaculate, but only because I loved to cook which Sherlock and John would soon find out. It was another outlet for me when I was feeling stressed. It was something productive to do and once you were finished, you had a treat for yourself. Sometimes I would knit while thinking too which is why Mycroft had about five knitted hats which I knew he would never wear.

I rose from my chair and breezed back into the kitchen, picking up Sherlock's practically untouched plate and bringing it with me. I didn't really expect for him to eat it, but at least I tried. He had at least nibbled a little bit on the toast so that was something. Baby steps, I would start off small and then I would try harder to get him to eat. He had to take care of himself better when on cases. If he kept continuing with not eating during a case and not sleeping, he was going to run himself ragged. I started the washing up until John came into the kitchen and relinquished me of my duty. "I'll do that, least I can do," John told me as he took a plate from my hands.

"Thanks John," I told him with a smile as I gladly gave over the washing duties to John. I leaned against the counter to keep him company. My Irish accent was still prevalent. I normally hid it with my British one, trying to fit into life in London a little easier, but around John and Sherlock I really didn't mind it anymore.

I felt oddly comfortable around them, which was surprising given that I generally had to take a lot of time to get to know someone first before I felt okay around them. Things were different with John and Sherlock though. John seemed to accept Sherlock and my oddness and Sherlock understood me like Mycroft did. That was one of the reasons why Mycroft and I got along so well. Normally, people were put off with my personality or the fact that I could tell them everything about themselves. People are, by nature, rather secretive. When you can read them like an open book, they tend to get defensive. I couldn't blame them though, not even Anderson and Donovan, not completely at least. Sure, I blamed both of them for a lot of things, but I understood why they called me a freak or a psychopath. The unfortunate truth of things is that we tend to shun things we don't understand. Mycroft understood me to a point. Sure, I didn't tell him everything about myself, but neither had he told me everything about himself. There were a few occasions where we had some heart to heart conversations. He knew that my father and I didn't get along, to put it mildly. I still wasn't ready to talk about all of that with Sherlock and John though. That was why I was so angry when Anderson looked through my journal. It was my mothers and then mine. I started writing in it as a child and then as I grew older, I compiled everything from cases I solved as a child to my observations of people.

A lot of what I wrote in it was about things from my childhood, about my father. It was like a chronological book of my entire life. I wrote about my cases when I got to London, about Mycroft, and about the people I met. It was almost like a physical representation of mind and how it worked. I wasn't lying, I could remember everything I ever heard, read, said, or saw. It was annoying sometimes, but it also proved useful when working on cases. There were, of course, some things that I would love to forget, that I wished were easy enough to forget. Then, there were things I would never forget because they defined me as a person. Every life experience we have whether good or bad helps to make us the people we are. The way I saw it, every life was a pile of good things and bad things. The good things didn't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things didn't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

I padded back into the living room where Sherlock was sitting with his violin in his lap again, playing small notes by plucking the strings. I put my over shirt back on and moved to sit in John's chair. I watched the man before me and what I saw was not what others did. I saw a man who had gone through life like I had, shunned because he was different than everyone else. I knew that Sherlock's home life was at least good. His time in boarding school probably wasn't. I had deduced that he had gone to boarding school from his surname. The Holmes family was an old and wealthy family, Mycroft went to boarding school and then to Uni so it was only logical that Sherlock had done the same. I myself went to an all-girls boarding school, but for rather different reasons. So, shunned in school with no friends, Sherlock spent time like I had observing people from a young age. When he got older, he pursued a career that meant working alone since he normally didn't get on well with people. Along with that he generally shut people out and went under the guise that he was a high functioning sociopath to push people away. Why? Because every time he let himself care he ended up getting hurt. He was letting himself care now though with John and I and I recognized that which was why I was trying so hard to show him that he wasn't alone, that people were out there that could understand him and yes, even care for him in return.

Sherlock need a friend. Someone who would hold his hand, to show him that he didn't need to go through life alone. For a long time I had Mycroft to be that person for me and now, I was going to be that person for Sherlock. I knew, lord I knew, that it would be difficult. Mummy Holmes warned me that her boys were stubborn in their own respects. I knew Sherlock wasn't going to accept my help right away. Hell, we were probably going to get in a lot of arguments, but that wasn't going to stop me from trying. I had too many people take advantage of me or break me down and if I could do anything to help Sherlock, I was going to. Nobody deserved to feel like they didn't have a friend, especially not Sherlock. I saw it as this. For a man who claimed he didn't care, he cared a lot more than he ever let it show. It was why he internalized so many of his emotions. Mycroft never smiled and it seemed neither did Sherlock much. If Sherlock was happy, I doubted he ever let it show more than a simple smirk. Sure, he laughed a few times, but somehow it felt like he didn't laugh often enough. Sherlock's phone thrilled, breaking me out of my reverie, and he reached across to pick up his phone from the desk beside him. He looked down at his phone, a small smirk gracing his face. Good news, or at least news he was waiting to hear. His eyes flickered up to me as he lowered his phone and promptly got up.

"Lestrade wants us to come down to the Yard and give our statements," Sherlock told me as he walked around my chair and headed towards his bed room. His robe made a sort of swooshing movement behind him which made me smirk. He was rather dramatic, I could see what Mycroft meant now. Of course that was just the pot calling the kettle black. I sighed and got up from my chair, popping my head into the kitchen to let John know that we had to be heading out soon. I caught him, arms deep in dish water and he looked back at me sheepishly at the little mess he had made. I grinned back at him, it was hilarious to see me do housework sometimes. I knew John had only offered because he would have felt bad for making me clean up after I cooked for them. I giggled at him once before I moved back to my own room.

I collected my phone which I had forgotten earlier, along with my case bag before moving back into the living room. I dug through the boxes Mycroft had brought over for me and found some of my equipment. Magnifing glass, lock picking kit, and a few piece of equipment that, while not always needed, were good to have on me. One of those pieces of equipment was my hacking equipment which Mycroft, fortunately, didn't know about. I shoved it into my bag, the items joining my laptop and notebooks. I could hear Sherlock moving around in his room and it sounded like he was tearing it apart. John walked into the room then in his jumper from the day before, looking slightly more put together. I smiled at him as Sherlock burst into the room, dressed in one of his immaculate suits. Would it kill him and Mycroft to wear jeans on occasion? Without a word he strode over to the door and started to pull on his Belstaff coat and scarf. I joined him, pulling on my own coat.

"We'll have to figure out something to say to Lestrade to explain why John was there just after the police arrived. Lestrade isn't the smartest man that ever lived, but even he will find that slightly suspicious," I remarked as John pulled on his coat. His head snapped up to me, but I ignored him, fixing my gaze on Sherlock.

He nodded thoughtfully for a second before he spoke. "We'll let him form his own theory first and then dissuade him or provide further evidence to support his theory."

"That could work. Anyway, even if he did find out it was John, he wouldn't do any time for it," I remarked as I slipped my phone into my pocket. Hopefully Mycroft would be less annoying today than he had been the day before.

"You know, I'm standing right here," John said irritably as he followed Sherlock and me down the stairs. I glanced back at him and shrugged just as Mrs. Hudson walked out of her flat.

"Are you three headed out again?" She asked us as Sherlock made for the door. I gave the woman a brief, one armed hug as Sherlock and John went outside to hail a cab. Men, they leave the women to talk while they make a hasty retreat.

"Mmm," I hummed in agreement as I made to follow them. "We'll be back later, Lestrade needed us to come in and give our statements on last night's case. Oh, some people will be by later with my stuff, could you let them in and direct them upstairs?" I asked Mrs. Hudson as I paused at the door, pulling on my leather gloves I had grabbed from one of the boxes. Ah comfy.

"I'll be sure to," Mrs. Hudson assured me just as I heard my name yelled loudly from outside. "You'd best get out there before he has a fit. You know what he's like," Mrs. Hudson told me as she followed me over to the door.

"He's worse that his brother in some ways, that's for sure. Anyway we'll see you later," I told Mrs. Hudson before steeping outside into the still cold morning air. Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind me as I walked over to the waiting cab. John stood waiting by the open door for me and I could already see Sherlock inside waiting irritably for me. I winked at John before sliding into the cab next to the detective and as soon as John got in next to me and closed the door, the cab pulled out onto the road and headed of in the direction of New Scotland Yard.

I pulled out my phone and texted Mycroft to let him know where I was going to be. I didn't have to check in with him, but he preferred to know where I was. Ever since my…accident working on the case, Mycroft kept an even closer eye on me than he had before. He worried whenever I ignored his texts because the one time I had was because I had been kidnapped. I obliged him now by texting him with where I planned to be. It meant that I didn't get texts from him when I was working on something important because he knew not to bother me. His simple response to my text assured me that I would not have a replay of yesterday's persistence. He seemed to accept the fact that I had decided to go back to work.

It wasn't really a decision as much as I just stopped refusing the idea of going back to solving cases. It had been four years and I couldn't deny the fact that running with Sherlock and John and solving the case had left me feeling happier than I had in a very long time. The thrill of the case was something that I had been missing. The chases, the prospect of possible death, some would call it madness, but I loved it. I could tell that Sherlock did as well. There was also the mysterious case of Moriarty, someone who knew of both Sherlock and me. I only knew that whoever they were, they were Irish which was a possible explanation for how they might know me. I couldn't remember the name, but it was possible I knew them from somewhere. Whoever they were, they were playing a dangerous game one that involved Sherlock and I and I was just as interested in finding more about Moriarty as I was sure Sherlock was. We had silently agreed not to mention anything to John about the name.

John seemed like he didn't know what to make of us. He had been just as invested in the case as Sherlock and I and had proven to be a valuable asset. I would just have to see where this new companionship went. One thing that I knew for certain was that I was moving into Baker Street. Another thing, was that I was decidedly going back to work. My mind had stayed stagnant for too long. I needed a new case, a puzzle, something to occupy my mind with. In the afterglow of success from the cabbie case, I was bursting with ideas. I was antsy, ready for something to do. Did Sherlock feel this way too? I would have to ask him about it. We were similar in a lot of ways only I provided my consulting services with a soon as we reached the Yard, Sherlock and I bolted from the cab before it had even come to a stop and we walked side by side into Scotland Yard. We raced up the stairs to the homicide division which was a flurry of activity. Sherlock turned up the collars of jacket as he banged open the door and sweep inside the department dramatically. I snorted and followed after him leaving the dramatics to him for the current moment. I didn't think Lestrade could handle the both of us at once.

"Ah the freaks are here," Sally said with a sneer as she walked out of Lestrade's office.

"Sally, always delightful to see you," Sherlock greeted her with a smirk as he stopped in front of her. "We'd love to stay and chat, but we actually have important work to do. I'm sure you can understand," He continued before he strode past her flashing her another false smile before he entered Lestrade's office. I grinned at Sally who looked to be seething with rage before walking past her and joining Sherlock in Greg's office. He was already giving an account of everything that passed between the cabbie and us, glossing over some points like my more winning comments.

John joined us, having finally caught up, just as Sherlock was explaining the part up the end of the game and the mysterious shooter who fired just as it seemed like we were in danger. I looked up at John from my perch on the corner of Lestrade's desk and winked at him slyly. He cleared his throat and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, shuffling uncomfortably. I leaned my head back and looked at Lestrade who was watching me closely just as Sherlock got to the part about how he had gone to the window not seeing the shooter and then how moments later we heard the police sirens. He glossed over the part about how the cabbie had given us the name of who he was working for. For now it seemed like we were going to keep that to ourselves to solve.

The door suddenly burst open and we all turned to look at the door where a greying man stood, slightly out of breath having clearly just run up the stairs to get here rather than taking the lift. He clearly was in a hurry. I smiled as I recognized the man and jumped off of the edge of the desk with a little cheer as I bounded over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. He chuckled as he returned the hug until the sound of Lestrade clearing his throat reached us. I broke away from the man grinning as he returned to his normally professional composure. Lestrade, John, and Sherlock were all watching us with curiosity and I could tell that Sherlock was now deducing the man that I seemed to be greatly acquainted with.

"Detective Inspector Gregson," The man introduced as he walked forward and shook Lestrade's hand. Lestrade still looked mildly shocked, but nodded at the man who had turned back to me. "I heard you were up here in homicide. I know you don't work cases any more, but I got one that I thought might interest you. Man came home a few hours ago to find his door kicked in and his wife missing. I thought maybe you would want to take a look and I could really use your help. I've got nothing to go on. Unless it's too soon. I heard about what happened with the cabbie."

"No, it's not too soon. I'll walk down with you. Is Sargent Bell still working in your unit?" I asked Gregson as I gathered my case bag. He looked relieved as soon as I told him that I would be joining him.

"Yes, he was the one that heard about your case and that you were here actually. Your reputation still precedes you," Gregson told me with a laugh which I joined in on. "Of course no one can forget you back in our division, not after that stunt you pulled."

"Oh come on Gregson, it wasn't that bad. I've been known to do far worse than that. I'll be down in a second," I told Gregson before turning back to Lestrade. "I do believe Sherlock has the rest of this from here, so I will leave you in his more than capable hands. It appears I have a case," I told him as he stared back at me with the expression of a gold fish. I moved my gaze to John. "Come Watson, I think I may need your assistance on this one," I told him before moving to the door, meeting Sherlock's gaze as I did so. I smiled at his indignant expression as I leaned back into the door way as John and Lestrade continued to look on with shock on their faces. "Oh, I might want to mention. There are two consulting detectives residing at Baker Street," I told them before walking off back through the division without a backward glance. I knew that John would follow after me sooner or later. He, like me, couldn't resist the excitement of a case.

It would seem that the entire unit had heard me what with the way Anderson and Donovan, not to mention everyone else, was staring at me as I met Gregson at the door to the division. I smiled at him as he held the door open for me and we headed down the stairs into what used to be my life. Lexi MacKenna, consulting detective was back. As I opened the door to the unit Gregson oversaw, I smirked back at everyone who stopped dead in their tracks as they saw me. The room was so silent that you could have heard a pin drop as everyone paused in their work, paperwork held in frozen hands. "As you can clearly see," I started as I smiled at the horrified looks on everyone's faces save one man's. "Not dead," I finished as I walked back into my old life.


	11. Oh Look, A Crime Scene

(**A/N) So, another early chapter. I had it finished so I figured I would post it for all of you. I'm just going to start doing that. As soon as I finish the next chapter I'll post it. Still towards the end of the week, but you might get it a day or two sooner on occasion. I changed the way I formatted the text messages so I hope you like the new format. Comments are much appreciated. Thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed recently and also checked out my one shots. Check out my Tumbler page, link is on my author profile. I end up posting a lot of things on there that didn't end up making it into the chapters and that is where you will find post updates in case I end up having an emergency one week. Your author went and hurt her knuckles this week so typing has become difficult, but I still got this chapter for you. I was actually productive this week. New poll on my author profile, trying to gauge some peoples reactions since I gave to decide how many own cases I am doing between "episodes".**

**What is you're opinion on that? I don't want to just give you the main cases and tell you time passed, I want to show you other cases they worked to show you how their relationships got established. I just don't want you to get bored if you are looking forward to a certain case. As it is planned, after this case there are three other own cases and then the Blind Banker and then three more own cases before The Great Game. Then a brief interlude of one or two domestic BS chapters before ASiB, an episodeI think spans a good fifteen or so chapters, the longest to date. Let me know what you think and do check out the poll so I can make some decisions.****See you all here next week, enjoy the chapter. -KattieWatsonHolmes**

**Song that inspired the chapter: We Insist by Zoe Keating**

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**Chapter Ten- Oh Look, A Crime Scene**

**"Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell." **  
**― Arthur Conan Doyle,**_**The Adventure of the Copper Beeches ** _

I smiled in satisfaction as I took in my old stomping grounds. Ah, good times. I walked into the division and up to my old friend and sometimes partner when working on cases, Sargent Bell. We had been through enough cases together that I was fine with calling him a friend and I had yet to actually scare him off. He was the only person I had ever found who was actually willing to work with me. Bell wasn't as critical as the rest of the Yarders were and when he had first heard about me, he hadn't listened to the rumours and had waited to form his own opinion of me. Sargent Bell was the sort of person I met once in a great while that was willing to give me a chance. I found his help beneficial on most cases, though sometimes his help wasn't all that helpful. He was good at what he did though so I couldn't fault him. He was certainly more clever than most of the Yarders. Sargent Bell was in his thirties, tallish, African American with short hair. He was originally from New York, but had joined Scotland Yard about the same time I had started consulting for Gregson. He had been very sceptical of my deductions at first, but after they were backed up with lab evidence, he slowly started trusting me. After that, no matter how strange my deductions sounded, he always believed them to a point. Detective Inspector Gregson was also from New York, but had been working in London for the last twenty years. He had salt and pepper hair, a receding hairline, and a strong build.

I had been working for Lestrade when I met Gregson at a crime scene. I ended up working alongside Gregson's division and after the case was solved, I sought him out and rendered my help to him on a few cases. I still primarily consulted on cases for Lestrade, but whenever I wasn't working on a case for him. I would render my help to Gregson's division. Many of the cases Gregson had were easy enough to solve without my help, even if most of the staff he had working for him were incompetent people, save Sargent Bell of course. Gregson and I had taken to meeting outside of the Yard mostly. Instead of going out to crime scenes and actually investigating, I had given him the option that if he ever needed a hand on a case, we could get together and I would go over the case files for him. Gregson was a good man and I considered him a friend. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather and he always called me kid and would watch out for me. Turns out, he had a daughter slightly younger than me and therefore, felt it his obligation to keep an eye out for me.

Gregson had gotten me out of a few problems. There were a few times I had gotten injured working on a case for Lestrade and I had brushed off my injuries, only to call Gregson and have him bring me to the hospital to get treated. Gregson would sit by me while I got patched up without giving me the third degree like Mycroft and Lestrade were apt to do. I had crashed on Gregson's couch a few times, mostly back when I was still doing drugs. He knew about them, tried to help me quite. He didn't judge, not in the way that Lestrade and Mycroft did and would do. When I had stopped working cases, Gregson had supported my decision. That being said, he never stopped trying to get me interested in coming back. He would always slip me the random cold case files to keep me entertained and often times, he and Sargent Bell would take me out around my birthday or holidays and we would go drinking. They claimed that New Yorkers could drink just as much as the Irish, though they were never quite right. Mycroft didn't really approve of them, but anyone that pissed Mycroft off was definitely a friend of mine.

When I disappeared on Lestrade's case, Gregson's unit had worked with Lestrade's in the search to find me. When I was finally recovered, Sargent Bell and Gregson were part of the team that came in and took down my captor along with Mycroft and Lestrade himself. Gregson had convinced Lestrade to take Mycroft's offered help in finding me. I could understand why Lestrade might not have wanted his help. The name Holmes had a reputation in all of Scotland Yard. While we were on the subject, so did the name MacKenna. I wasn't exactly known for being the most normal person. Gregson took my personality in strides. Some days he could deal with it and others he couldn't. Sargent Bell however had gotten used to my methods and the way I acted over time. That wasn't to say that I still didn't exasperate him half the time, but both men seemed to accept that I wasn't like everyone else. I regarded them both Lestrade and Gregson with affection, though my fondness for Lestrade slightly influenced by the fact I had worked more cases for him.

Now that I was getting back into working cases, it would only be fair to render my help to Gregson as well, though some things were going to have to change. Number one, I would have to steal John away from Sherlock on occasion. John's help on my cases would be extremely useful as they generally required a medical opinion. While I was better liked in this division than Lestrade's, the medical team was still unwilling to work with me. They didn't like my methods, but vice versa, I wasn't too fond of theirs either. The best part about working in Gregson's division was the absence of Anderson and Donovan. I still had a few people in this division that had given me the nickname of freak or psychopath, but I knew to stay away from them. Sadly, Anderson and Donovan weren't as easy to avoid since Donovan was Lestrade's partner and Anderson was head of the forensics team. When I had left, many people were apparently of the impression that I had died, owing to the fact that I never came back to the division, hence my theatrical return.

I moved forward and hugged Sargent Bell and he chuckled at me as I pulled back, grinning madly at him. I hadn't seen him in at least three months, Gregson in two. We didn't get in touch nearly as much as we did after I first left. Four years passed and when it was apparent that I really wasn't coming back, I started to see the both of them less and less. I couldn't be bitter though. They had work to do and I decided to become a rubbish writer and work the occasional odd case for Mycroft. I all but became a recluse as I tried to shut the world out. Somehow, my brain was much quieter if I didn't go out and socialize. The morgue was always a nice place to hang out, though slightly morbid now that I think about it. One thing you can say about the dead though, they're great listeners. "Nice to have you back Red," Sargent Bell told me, using my old code name. I was jokingly called Red or 009 in this division, a reference to the first case Gregson had let me consult on where I had taken some James Bond and Mission Impossible techniques to solve the murder of a lawyer. Gregson also called me MacGyver, a reference to a television show about an American secret agent who could solve complex problems with everyday materials.

"Aye, it's nice to be back. I hear you heard about my cabbie case," I remarked as Gregson led me back to his office. The rest of the division went back to their work, but they still sent glances my way .I know, everyone was so excited I was back. That thought wasn't completely sarcastic either. I really didn't expect fanfare or confetti, I knew what people thought about me, but hey, that had never stopped me before. It had certainly never stopped Sherlock from consulting on cases, even with the way Anderson and Donovan constantly treated him. I ignored the looks as I walked into Gregson's office and sat on the edge of his desk, much in the manner I had Lestrade's. Sargent Bell joined me, standing beside me as Gregson shut the door behind the three of us.

"Well, everyone was talking about it in the division. Imagine our surprise when we hear that Lexi MacKenna is consulting on the suicides. Not to mention when it comes through that you're not the only one consulting on it, but there is also another guy and some doctor. That and you chased a cab throughout London and almost was killed by a serial killer until some mysterious shooter shot the creep. Here I was under the impression that you preferred to work alone," Sargent Bell remarked as he handed Gregson over a case file.

"I worked with you didn't I?" I asked Bell with a raised eyebrow and he nodded slowly.

"So who were these guys you were with Red? Has Lexi MacKenna finally given a man a chance?" Bell asked me and I shook my head, rolling my eyes. Of course he would be more fixated on that right now.

"First of all, these guys are my flatmates. Dr. John Watson retired military and Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for Detective Inspector Lestrade," I informed him and Gregson's head snapped up at that revelation. If Lestrade's reaction to me living with two men was bad, Gregson's was going to prove to be even worse.

"Holmes is your flatmate? Do you know what they say about that guy? They call him a psychopath. Just about everyone in the Yard had heard about him," Gregson said as he threw the case file down on his desk by my leg and picked up his coffee, taking a sip as he looked at me pointedly. He never could get used to tea. He said it should be left to the Brits. He was actually the person that introduced me to coffee and had gotten me hooked. I picked up the case file and scanned it, waiting to answer him until I was good and ready. I certainly knew what Sherlock Holmes was like and he was a lot different than everyone thought he was. I looked up at Gregson as I put the case file down, staring him dead in the eyes so he would understand that I was being extremely serious here.

"He's a high functioning sociopath actually and I don't see what the problem is," I told Gregson, rolling my eyes as I handed Bell back the case file. Gregson tried to protest but I cut him off by raising my hand. "Firstly, he's Mycroft's brother. You remember Mycroft, the man who helped you find me. You liked him if I remember correctly. Secondly, my second flatmate is Dr. John Watson, ex-military doctor, so I think between the both of us we can handle him. And lastly, I am a phenomenal judge of character. Sherlock has no worse of a reputation at the Yard than I do and honestly, one of the reasons I moved in with him is because we are alike in many ways. Don't judge a book by its cover. You waited to form your own opinions about me after we met," I finished with a pointed look at Gregson. He sighed in response and put his coffee back down on the desk. Third cup in an hour, he really was at a standstill with this case. I decided to cut him a little slack. It had been a while since we worked together after all, even if it was easy enough to fall into our old ways.

"Alright, alright, but if he so much as makes you feel uncomfortable, I want you to come to me. I get that you didn't normally work cases for me, but as long as you are helping me I consider you as part of this division and I look after my own. This Holmes guy even looks at you funny, I want to hear about it from you. Same goes for this Watson bloke, even if he was an army doctor," Gregson relented before gesturing to the case file with his coffee cup as he picked it up again. "Now, Sargent Bell can take you down to the crime scene and I'll meet you there. I need anything you can give me on this one," Gregson told me as I hopped off of his desk.

"Actually, I'll meet you down there. I have to go collect my college first," I told Gregson with a smile as he walked around his desk, mug in hand, probably going to get another cup before he hit the road. It was nice that he was still so concerned with my safety. It was the one thing Mycroft couldn't fault him on.

"Not Holmes," Gregson said firmly and I shook my head at him. Sherlock would most likely not be interested in this case any way. He seemed to only be interested in murders. A missing person's case was always my specialty though. There was just something so intricate in the web of all the evidence and clues when it came to missing person's cases. Sometimes they didn't involve murder, but murder wasn't always the point of the case, sure the cases were more interesting when they involved murder, but I couldn't complain. Having a case meant that I didn't sink into the pits of boredom.

"No, not Sherlock. Dr. Watson is my assistant on cases now. If Sherlock wants to come though, I'm not stopping him. I'll meet you down there," I told Gregson with a note of finality. Sargent Bell gave me the address to the crime scene on my way out of the division and I waved at him and Gregson as I left and headed down the stairs. I found John and Sherlock in the lobby of New Scotland Yard, seemingly waiting for me. Sherlock seemed to be impatient so I assumed that it was John who kept him there. By the look on his face, I was right.

"There you are," John said looking relieved as he saw me. Behind me Gregson and Sargent Bell appeared, both nodding in my direction before they headed outside. I waved them off before turning back to John with a smile.

"Well Watson, it appears we have a case. I told Gregson and Sargent Bell that we would meet them at the crime scene," I told John as I pulled my mittens on. I looked up at him when I heard him give a noncommittal snort. "Problem?" I asked him innocently, using Sherlock's line. Sherlock was staring at me with disinterest and I brushed past him on the way to the door, turning up the collar of my coat in the process. It was something I had noticed Sherlock doing a lot and I just couldn't resist carrying on acting like him since I had already stolen his line. I had to admit, it added to the drama and mystery behind the look of the consulting detective.

"You want me to go to another crime scene with you?" John asked me sounding exasperated as I waited for him with my hand on the door. I rolled my eyes at him and sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, I thought that was quiet clear. Are you coming or not?" I asked him before looking over at Sherlock. "I suppose you can come too if you'd like. Gregson didn't say you couldn't come along as well. I'm not sure how much the case would interest you though," I told him before looking back at John. "Come along Watson the game is afoot," I told John, who was still staring at me, in my posh British voice dramatically before I pushed open the door and walked out of it like a runway model. If Sherlock could act like a drama queen so could I. I started off down the street heading for the tube station, my head held high as I smirked devilishly behind the upturned collar of my coat. From the way people were looking at me, I probably looked ridiculous, but I didn't care. I was back, properly back and I was happier than ever. I just kept walking, knowing that John's need for danger and his curiosity over another case so soon after the first would get the better of him and he would end up following me. I wasn't sure about Sherlock, but a case, even a boring one, was still better than sitting in the flat all day by himself.

Not a few seconds later, John was hurrying to catch up with me, Sherlock keeping up pace with me, his coat billowing around him as he silently walked beside me. I raised an eyebrow at him, but made no comment as I continued on and made my way down into the tube station. I paid for our fare before leading the men on to the tube that had just arrived at the station. We packed inside before the tube took off again, heading for our destination. I preferred traveling by tube whenever possible. There was less traffic to have to compete with. I might have rode to the crime scene with Sargent Bell, but I decided against it for John's shake as well as Sherlock's. Firstly, I didn't really enjoy going to a crime scene in a police car and would rather pay for a cab like Sherlock. Secondly, I didn't think Sherlock, John or Bell would be able to survive that cab ride, though it would have been hilarious to see John and Sherlock sitting in the back of the car. Mycroft probably wouldn't think it was so funny though. I wasn't sure exactly what made Sherlock decide to come with me, but should he make one false move at my crime scene, I was going to have Gregson escort him off the scene. As far as I saw it this was officially my case. Lestrade had asked me to work with Sherlock on the last case and Gregson had invited me in on this one. Therefore, I did not expect to be working with Sherlock on this case. I was going to make sure that was quite clear to him before we got to the crime scene.

We stood in silence on the tube and from the look on Sherlock's face, it was not a way he liked to travel. Of course, I wasn't too fond of all the people on the tube either, but sometimes it was interesting when there was enough people to just sit and deduce them. It was how I kept in practice when I was gone for four years. When we arrived at the proper tube station twenty minutes later I walked off the tube amongst the other commuters leaving it up to John and Sherlock to catch up with me. I was testing to see if John would follow me or give up and I was trying to see if Sherlock was really going to go to the crime scene with me or not. He hadn't said anything since we had left the Yard which was slightly ominous, but I wasn't too concerned by it right now. Mycroft and I had given each other the silent treatment for three days once. The silence was only ominous because I wondered what was going on in that brain of his. I felt the need to test John's resolve because he still wasn't sure himself if he wanted to come to crime scenes or not. I was letting him have an excuse of leaving by walking ahead. He could either follow after me or claim he had lost me. I wasn't going to force him into coming. I knew the streets of London well enough that I only had to check my phone once to figure out which direction I was heading before I started off in the proper direction. John trotted next to me, just managing to keep up with my brisk pace. I slowed down slightly as I became aware of the fact that Sherlock was walking in my footsteps like a shadow. We rounded a corner and in front of us, the police had most of the street taped off. Two police vans and three cars were on the scene, the most recent ones to pull up given the tire marks being Sargent Bell's and Detective Inspector Gregson's. There were a few bystanders trying to get a look at what was going on. Lestrade had yet to hold a press conference to let the public know that they had caught the culprit behind the serial suicides or murders and I could hear everyone talking about how they thought there had been another one.

There were reporters on scene, already trying to get the scoop on what was going on. I paused for a brief moment, scanning the street before proceeding towards the police tape with John and Sherlock in tow. As soon as the reporters saw me ducking under the police tape before holding it up for John and Sherlock, they immediately swarmed us and started throwing questions our way. I ignored them as I lead John and Sherlock away from the tape and out of ear shot of the reporters before stopping and looking right at Sherlock. His eyes were scanning the street as mine had, but he had his hands clasped behind his back and he looked rather disinterested in what was going on. John looked a little uncomfortable, this being his second crime scene in two days.

"Look, I want to make one thing perfectly clear Holmes," I told Sherlock, reverting to using his last name as I returned to my professional, consulting manner. He raised his eyebrow at my use of his surname rather than his first, but I didn't care at all. As soon as I got to a crime scene, all joking around stopped. Sure, I could make the occasional comment, but I was always professional at a crime scene, more so around Gregson than Lestrade. "This is my case and my crime scene. You can observe, you can deduce, but keep it to yourself. Are we clear on that?" I asked Sherlock raising my own eyebrows at him.

"Understood," Sherlock said imply after a long moment. I couldn't decipher from the tone of his voice what he was thinking, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to know exactly. He looked at me challengingly and I narrowed my eyes at him before spinning on my heel and striding off towards the house. John followed behind me a few seconds later looking uncomfortable to say the least. I didn't like putting him in the middle of things between Sherlock and, but if Sherlock was here, he was going to have to ply by my rules. Gregson was already not exactly fond of Sherlock given his reputation at the Yard. What he thought wouldn't exactly influence me, but I knew that Gregson could make things difficult for me if he didn't think Sherlock was someone I should be hanging around. I had a feeling that Mycroft had given Gregson a few directions when I used to work with his division. I knew he had given Lestrade a few such as what to do in the event I was ever arrested while on a case.

"Gregson," I greeted the man with a smile as I stepped up to the house where Gregson and Sargent Bell were talking with another police officer. He turned around and apologized to the two men before coming over to greet me.

"Ah, Lexi, there you are, I was starting to think you got lost," Gregson said as he lifted up another row of police tape for me and I ducked under it to meet him on the other side.

"Gregson, I'd like you to meet Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes," I told him as I pointed John and Sherlock out in turn before introducing them to Gregson. "Sherlock, John, this is Detective Inspector Gregson, one of my oldest friends."

"Ha, don't say oldest," He remarked irritably and I grinned at him before patting him on the back and looking up at the building where my crime scene was apparently waiting. I was ready to get my hands dirty so to speak.

"So what have you got for me this time Gregson?" I asked him as he turned back to call out an order to Sargent Bell before he turned back to me, holding out a pair of gloves which I took from him.

"Can you put these on please?" He asked Sherlock and John as he handed them a similar pair. Mine were white however instead of the normal blue like everyone else's. He actually remembered my preference. I smiled fondly at him before I blew into my gloves, earning me a despairing look from Gregson, before putting them on as I followed him inside of the house.

I looked down the hallway he led us down, the walls lined with white panels. I raised an eyebrow as I took in my surroundings and made some deductions. Rich couple, higher class part of London. That meant they had money, possibly enemies. That could mean a lot of different things. The obvious explanation was the wife had been kidnapped for ransom, I however did not agree with the obvious explanation to any situation. I turned my head back to see that John was taking in the surroundings, looking tired while Sherlock was scanning just about everything he saw. I could see the gears in his head turning as much as mine were as he made his own deductions. So far he was keeping silent as I requested of him. It would be interesting to see how long that would last. He liked showing off just as much as I did, if not more so.

"Dr. Richard Mantlo came home a few hours ago to find his door kicked in…," Gregson said as he led us through the hall and pointed out the door which was splintered, the ground littered with bits of wood from the door. "…and his wife Amy Dampier missing," Gregson finished as he led us inside the couple's house. "That's uh… that's Mantlo over there," Gregson told me as he pointed out the husband of the victim. "He's the headshrinker out at Queen Mary's Hospital. Says he caught an emergency last night, didn't get home until 5:00 a.m. Saw the front door, called 999," Gregson continued as I looked around, noticing the boot print on the door.

The victim's husband was glancing over at us and I regarded him making my deductions. 5'6, around 180 pounds, size 8 shoes, liar. Hmm interesting, one more than I was expecting. The house itself was in immaculate condition. It had a very feminine vibe to it, fake flowers on a table by the door, a mirror behind it, and the white panels on the wall that followed into the house giving it a clinical, clean feeling. I didn't like it. "First officers on scene found signs of-of a struggle in the kitchen…," Gregson continued as I brought out my phone and took a picture of the boot print on the door. I glanced up at him in a gesture that meant for him to continue as I looked back down at my phone. "…and in the master bedroom. But no Ms. Dampier," I raised my eyebrow at that as I looked up from my phone. Ms. Dampier? That was odd.

"Ransom demand?" I asked Gregson curiously and he shook his head at me. I nodded in confirmation before brushing past him into the living room of the house.

Forensics was already on scene and combing through the living room as a few detectives watched on. They were all new to the division so they looked at me like I was invading their territory, which I kind of was. I ignored them as I started to make my deductions. The first thing I did was reach into my jacket pulling out my trusty smart looking glasses and sliding them onto my face. I nodded once to myself, satisfied before I looked around the living room and wrinkled my nose at the symmetry and just organized set up of the room. One red couch with an end table with a lamp at either end, two chairs in front of a fire place both turned at exactly 45 degree angles, on either side of the fire place set into the out cloves were tables covered in knickknacks, and the pictures on the walls above them were perfectly aligned. There was something about the room that was just off, missing even. I couldn't tell what, but it was bugging me. I looked around the room as Gregson cleared out the detectives to let me do my work. They didn't look happy that they were being forced out for me, but I could care less. After a while, you stopped caring what other people thought about you and your methods. My methods might not be normal or sometimes accepted, but they got results which was all I was happy with. I spun about the room before I stood back in place and scanned the room again.

"What is it?" Gregson asked me as he walked up to me, noticing my expression. I looked back at him frowning as I took a step towards the left alcove by the fire place. I couldn't see what I was missing and that was really annoying me.

"I'm not sure," I admitted as I walked up to the table and scanned the pictures. Rectangle frame, round frame, rectangle frame pattern, but you could tell that round frames used to be where the rectangle ones were from the pattern still on the wall that had developed over a period of time. The two pictures that had changed frames were only those that contained a picture of the wife, Amy Dampire. "Ms. Dampire's cell phone, have you recovered it?" I asked Gregson as I glanced back at him.

"We have her cell phone?" Gregson called back over to one of the detectives standing in the doorway. John and Sherlock were standing at the far end of the room and I was relieved that Sherlock seemed to be behaving himself for now. In fact, he was not actually looking around at the crime scene, but rather studying me very intently. I brushed off the creepy vibe of having his eyes watching my every move. If Gregson saw that, he was only going to have more evidence of why he felt I shouldn't live with him. John kind of looked lost as if he wasn't sure what he was doing here or what I needed him to do. "Thank you detective," Gregson said as one of the detectives brought the cell phone in and handed it off to him. He gave to it me and I pulled it out of its evidence bag quickly, handing the bag back to him in the process. The phone didn't have a pass code lock on it so it was easy enough to open up to get at what I needed. Not like a code would really stop me, decryption and cyphers were some of my favourite types of brain teasers. I opened up the photos app on the woman's phone and started flicking through them quickly. I looked up from the phone and back at the pictures on the wall. Interesting.

"Hmm. She either lost a tremendous amount of weight or underwent significant plastic surgery in the last two years," I remarked as I walked over and stood between John and Gregson. John leaned over my shoulder and looked at the pictures on the phone as did Gregson. Sherlock was still watching me with interest and I flicked my eyes up to his before glancing back down at the phone in my hands.

"She looks the same in all the photos," John commented and I nodded at him in agreement. That was what I was getting at. Watson was already proving useful to prove my point once again.

"That's my point John," I told John with a cheerful smile as I looked back up at the photos on the wall. I crossed back over to the left side and pointed out the frames. "The ovular frames are older, they've been here longer. You can tell by the way the wall has faded. The square frames, however, are newer. They are the only ones that feature Ms. Dampier. Coincidence? No," I told them as I moved back over to them and showed them the phone again. "If you check her cell phone there are no photos of her older than two years; yet there are countless pictures of other people in her life from as many as five years ago," I finished before I walked off into the rest of the house, brushing past Sherlock on my way out of the living room. I locked eyes with him as I past him and his looked back to me, cold and calculating. He was up to something and that was never good.

I quickly texted Mycroft that his brother was creeping me out before I got to my knees to examine the rug by the door more closely, leaning down to sniff it. I looked around the floor as I heard John asking Gregson about how long I had known him for. I was vaguely aware of the fact that Sherlock was standing next to me. I looked up at him and he offered a hand to help me up. I eyed it for a second before letting him pull me to my feet. I nodded at him curtly before I headed into the kitchen. My phone alerted me and I rolled my eyes at Mycroft's reply. He told me that, that was just normal Sherlock. Great. He was definitely up to something and I was going to figure out what, after I was done with my crime scene. Another Sargent was waiting inside the kitchen when I entered it, writing on a notepad as he looked down at the evidence of a broken glass on the floor. Not just one glass though, but two. I took a large step over the broken glass, standing on the other side of it. The man looked up from his notepad as he watched me looking down at the glass. There was a streak of blood on the floor, obviously Ms. Dampire's, but the amount of it suggested that she had probably cut her hand on the glass when she dropped it or used it against her attacker.

"Gregson, can you come in here?" I called to him as I looked up from the evidence. I heard the sounds of his footsteps as well as John's and Sherlock's as he came to join me in the kitchen.

"Yeah?" He asked me as he stood in the doorway.

"Ms. Dampire knew her attacker," I informed him with another look down at the broken glass. "She let him into the house herself," I finished just as the Sargent chuckled in disbelief. I flashed my eyes over to him as he pointed at me with his pen.

"Inspector, who-who is this girl?" He asked Gregson as he looked at me. I deduced him on the spot. Not married, in his forties, sexist. Well, that was lovely. I looked over at Sherlock and we rolled our eyes in unison, a small smirk working its way on both of our faces.

"There are two broken glasses here. You can tell from the volume of the shards. Obviously, she was pouring a glass of water for her guest when he assailed her," I continued, ignoring the Sargent entirely. He however had other intentions.

"Right. Is that something you would do if some nut job comes in and kicks your door in, you ask him if his thirsty?" He scoffed at me. I rolled my eyes at him before getting down on my knees and landing down on my hands to take a look under the fridge. Thank Gandhi I loved my job and was not afraid of doing hands on work. See, this was why Sherlock and I were good at what we did. We did what others wouldn't, smelling the carpet, looking under the fridge. People were so afraid of getting in close to things, to use more than just their sense of sight to see the obvious evidence at the crime scene. Sure, smelling a dead body was not a pleasant experience, but sometimes, you just had to do it to collect all of the data needed to solve the case at hand.

I grinned to myself as I saw exactly what I had been hoping to find. I was good, I was extremely good. I was on a roll. I hopped to my feet and gestured towards the pen the Sargent was holding. "Can I?" I asked him and he hesitantly reached forward and handed it over to me. "Thank you," I told him with a quirky smile before I got back down on the floor and reached under the fridge, using the pen to push the piece of glass I had discovered out from under it. "Base of glass number two," I said smugly as I jumped back up to my feet showing the broken bottom of the glass I had found under the fridge. I put the shard down on the counter and handed the Sargent his pen back before looking down at my phone again. "If you take another glance at the boot print on the front door…," I told Gregson as I brought up the picture I had taken earlier while he had been talking and handed him over my phone. "…you will see an almost unnoticeable spot of blood where the heel made contact with the door. I'm convinced that lab tests will conclude that it is the victim's blood, and therefore could only have been left there after her assault had already taken place," I continued as Gregson looked up from the picture at me.

"Bloody brilliant," John remarked quietly. I beamed at him as Sherlock rolled his eyes in the doorway. I snorted at him before looking back at Gregson.

"Ms. Dampier let the man in because he was familiar to her. Women would never let a strange man into their house, so she had to have known him and known him well enough to feel comfortable letting him in. He kicked the door in when he left to try and obscure this fact. He also took something from the living room," I told Gregson as I hopped over the broken glass and took my phone from him as I breezed past the men and back into the living room. "Do note the symmetry of the space," I remarked, wrinkling my nose slightly, as they followed me into the room. I smiled at how much they looked like little ducklings. Sherlock of course was the biter of the group. "This wall is very nearly a reflection of that one," I continued as I held my hands up and squinted as I looked at the two walls. "Pictures, pictures, knickknacks, knickknacks. I see balance everywhere except one place. I'm sure you've noticed it Sherlock," I said turning my head to look back at him with a grin.

"This space," Sherlock said speaking for the first time since we had arrived as he moved forward and pointed out they empty space I had noticed. "Something was here, what was it?" Sherlock demanded in his normal manner as the husband of the victim walked into the living room. I looked at him pointedly and made a motion for him to be quiet again before my eyes flicked over to Gregson in a warning. He rolled his eyes at me and I sighed in frustration. He just had to be difficult, not like I wasn't surprised. Mycroft had been the most difficulty man I had ever met until I had met Sherlock that is.

"Maybe this isn't the best time," John started walking between Sherlock and me trying to defuse the situation. I shook my head and looked at the victim's husband myself. Right now was actually a good time, a perfect time in fact to figure out what made the victim's husband a liar.

"No, no Sherlock is right," I agreed, Sherlock raising an eyebrow at this admission, as I turned to the victim's husband. "Please concentrate. Something used to occupy that space. I need you to tell us what it was," I told the man as I looked back at the space. I shared a look with Sherlock as I caught Gregson giving Sherlock a side long look.

"Um…an old ring box. Amy's grandmother gave it to her. Why?" The man asked me. I didn't like the way he spoke, there was just something about him that gave me a bad vibe. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling that he was somehow involved in this. I just needed to figure out how. I needed to find the facts instead of making up facts to suit my theories.

"You said there were also signs of a struggle in the master bedroom?" I asked Gregson ignoring the husband's question. There was a lot more to worry about right now and I honestly didn't feel like wasting breath trying to answer him. Gregson nodded and made a sound of agreement before he left the room, leading the way. I followed after him and made a gesture for John and Sherlock to follow. One glance at Sherlock and I caught him smirking. Against my better judgement I sent a smile his way as I headed up the stairs after Gregson. He nodded to the detective upstairs as he led me to the master bedroom.

"What is it?" John asked me as he followed behind me. "Why is it so important that the kidnapper took the ring box?" He continued as I looked back at him as I walked with a slight smirk on my face. He asked all the right questions. This is why I needed an assistant.

"Kidnappers don't take trophies John, but killers do," I told him just as Sargent "Arsehole" from downstairs scoffed loudly behind us. Oh and there he goes again. He was starting to annoy me more than Anderson and that was saying something. Either my patience was really bad today or he really was that annoying.

"There's no body genius," He shouted over Sherlock's shoulder. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"There's no blood on the front stoop or walk, either. It's rather difficult not to leave any when you're abducting someone with an arterial wound. Wouldn't you agree Dr. Watson?" I asked him as I shot the Sargent a dirty look before I brushed past Gregson and into the master bedroom. Sherlock was smirking again when I looked back his way. He seemed to find my irritation amusing. "You're certain your men have been over every inch of this house?" I asked Gregson in confirmation as I paused in the door way of the bedroom and looked back at him.

"Of course," Gregson assured me as he walked forward and entered the bedroom ahead of me. "But as you can see, there was a struggle here," He continued as I followed him into the bedroom and scanned it for the signs he mentioned. Same symmetry and neatness to the room. All this cleanliness was making me miss Baker Street's organized chaos. I walked forward into the room and walked on the side of the bed near the window. I frowned as I felt a slight difference in the floorboards. It wasn't that noticeable, but it just felt off. I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet before frowning further and looking back at Sherlock. I made a gesture for him to come over and he joined me, his eyebrow quirking as he discovered the same thing I had. I turned and walked back towards Gregson with my arms out on either side of me before looking up at Gregson and John who were both staring at me like I was nuts.

"She's in the safe room," I said quietly as I lowered my arms to my sides. I did hate it when I was right sometimes.

"What safe room?" Gregson asked me sounding confused as I looked back at Sherlock and sighed, sharing a long look with him as he nodded at me in confirmation of my theory.

"The one behind that wall," I answered him as I pointed to the wall beside the bed as Sherlock stepped out of the way.

"Husband didn't say anything about a safe room," The Sargent remarked as Sherlock and I both snapped our heads towards him and rolled out eyes in unison.

"Stop talking, you're lowering the IQ of everyone in the room," Sherlock snapped to him before looking back at me and making a gesture for me to continue. I inclined my head in his direction for his help before looking back at Gregson with a smile on my face. He looked sort of amused as he looked between Sherlock and me.

"There's a slight angle to the floor here. You can't f…," I said before trying to figure out a way to explain it. I looked around the room before my eyes landed on one of their helpful potted plants that had marbles in the pot. "It's…," I said as I darted forward and grabbed one. "…the extra weight of a safe room's steel reinforcements can cause the floor around it to decline slightly," I explained as I put the marble on the floor and watched as it started to roll towards the wall.

"Creating a slope between one and five degrees," Sherlock finished for me as we followed the marble's path. I walked forward past Sherlock and leaned over the nightstand, finding the button on the backside that would open the safe room. It clicked before a metallic creak, clacking was heard as the wall pulled back, the marble continuing its roll forward as Sherlock and I walked forward into the doorway of the safe room. Sherlock flicked on the light switch along the side of the wall as everyone leaned in to get a look. The lights revealed Amy Dampire laying in a pool of blood, gazing wide eyed up at the celling.

"Oh god," I heard John mutter behind us as he caught sight of the body. I grimaced myself as the smell of death and the coppery smell of blood reached my noise. I straightened up and looked at Sherlock who was watching me intently, judging my reaction to this new development.

"Sometimes I hate it when I'm right," I told him sadly, snapping a picture of the bruising around the woman's neck before turning around and walking away from the safe room doors. I heard John call after me, but I ignored him as I walked down the stairs and out through the front door. I took a deep breath as I reached the open air and looked down at my phone when it trilled a text alert.

* * *

Received 11:23

From: Emperor of Cake

_**On my way. -MH**_

* * *

The text read and I looked up again over the crime scene tape as Gregson came out of the house behind me. I turned and looked back at him over my shoulder giving him a small smile. John and Sherlock stood in the doorway, John looking concerned and Sherlock just staring back at me curiously.

"You alright," Gregson asked me as he stopped beside me. I shrugged at him as I put my hands in my coat pockets.

"It's just strange, being back here, working again. It's been so long and now…now it's just like I never left in the first place. A lot has changed since then though, I've changed," I told Gregson as I sighed heavily. I wasn't sure if I was ready to be back or not yet. It wasn't easy being back, but I had to start somewhere.

"I know, God Lexi, I know how hard this must be for you getting back into this, but you've been an asset to this division for many years. I'm glad to have you back kiddo," Gregson said as he gave me a hug. I scrunched up my face at his words and pulled back from the hug.

"I'll stick to MacGyver thank you," I told him patting him on the chest as Mycroft's black car pulled up beyond the police tape. I held up a hand to tell him I would be right with him before turning back to Gregson. "I'll meet you back at the Yard. I would bring in the husband for questioning. He's giving me a bad vibe. Make sure John and Sherlock come back to the Yard too," I told Gregson as I looked over at John and Sherlock who were waiting for me. I shook my head at Sherlock and he nodded to show that he understood before I made my way towards the police tape. John looked confused as I walked away, but I saluted him before turning back to the car and ducking under the police tape again.

"Give my regards," Gregson shouted after me and I laughed in response before calling back to Gregson that I would. Allen got out of the driver's seat and opened the backdoor of the car for me and I slid in the back seat with Mycroft.

He looked up at me and smiled tightly before he handed me over a steaming cup of coffee. I grinned as I took it from him and took a sip of the bitter brew. I sighed in contentment before I leaned my head down against his shoulder. He sighed as well, though in irritated acceptance to the fact that I was using him as a pillow, before the driver reversed the car and headed off towards Scotland Yard. I sat there with Mycroft, in one of the rare moments where he showed me affection. Mycroft always said that caring wasn't an advantage, but he had told me once before that I was the exception to that. Mycroft was like an older brother to me and I like a sister to him. I sighed again as I pulled my head off of his shoulder. He didn't have to say anything, the mere fact that he let me take comfort beside him was enough especially since I knew that he despised human contact. I sat back in my seat as London rushed by outside the windows.

"So how was the meeting with the Prime Minister?" I asked Mycroft nonchalantly. He smiled at me tightly as he fingered the handle of his umbrella. It was more than just a fashion statement. There were a few hidden modifications in it of my own design. There was more than one reason I had gotten the nickname MacGyver. In fact, I had made exactly three of the same specifications for him. They were a sort of thank you gift after he helped find me.

"Your knowledge of the inner workings of the British Government never ceases to amaze me," Mycroft drawled out lazily as he turned and looked at me with that smile that not only creeped me out a bit but also sort of made me want to giggle. "It went fine thank you. How is my dear brother and the good doctor?" Mycroft asked me and I made a sound as I shook my hand in a so-so manner.

"Sherlock was creeping me out earlier, but he made up for it and John is actually really good on cases," I told Mycroft as I took another sip of my coffee. I grinned at him as his face reverted back in his usual frown.

"I'll have your things moved over to Baker Street tonight. Anthea is collecting your case files as we speak," Mycroft told me as we pulled up at the Yard. I thanked him as Allen hopped out of the car and opened the door for me. I smiled at Mycroft and leaned forward, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before I slipped out of the car and waved to him before bounding up the steps and into Scotland Yard. I was ready to continue with this case now. It was time to stop doubting myself and start living again.


	12. Ode To The Consulting Detective

**(A/N) Another early chappie. Look at that I've been very productive even with finals around the corner. Hope you enjoy this one, some excellent Lexi moments with Sherlock and John. I know that some of you may be questioning why I am doing own cases and that is because I don't want to just rush into the Blind Banker and tell you a month passed. I want you to see how Lexi and Sherlock developed a relationship while working together because you need to understand that so you can understand some of the things that Lexi and Lock do during that case. Also, I'm setting up some plot elements in these cases. I do start work writing the Blind Banker soon. I finish my Uni finals in another three weeks and then I'll be going on holiday for a week, so I'm going to start it then. My lovely friend Liz is going to post a chapter for you all that week and I'll make sure to post extra to keep you all entertained. -KattieHolmes**

**Notes on reviews: **

**Nellas Anwarunya- Thank you so much for the review, I am really glad to you like Lexi's character and the story! Yes, yes, and yes to your question if Lexi and Sherlock will end up together. They're relationship really starts to be a little more than friends around The Blind Banker and they sort of get together around the Great Game, but baby steps since Sherlock is a little new to everything. Yes, I love writing Mycroft and Lexi like that. Possible little spoiler for you, but I just have to... the last chapter is called Their Last Vow. Now you can ponder on what I might have done. Also Many Happy Returns spans multiple chapters. Welcome to the Baker Street Irregulars, a group of two consulting detectives, their blogger, and their author. **

**crzychigurl343-Yes, I am drawing on influences form Elementary I ended up watching the show and liking some of the case. As for characters fitting in and plot lines, the characters are people I added because I felt like Lexi would have been more apt to try and help other divisions as well, not just Lestrade's She prefers interesting cases, but understands that they all have merit. As for the plot line of Elementary, I'm not really following it. I'm just adapting the case itself to fit in with Sherlock. I omit anything but what happened while on the case and a lot of it I am changing around as you will see with the case after this one, Lesser Evils. I am writing up the Long Fuse now with many revisions as to what happened. I sort of just found a few where I liked the cases and used them as a bases for other cases for Sherlock. Hopefully you like them. **

**Song that inspired the chapter- The Rockey Road To Dublin by the Young Dubliners**

* * *

Chapter Eleven- Ode To The Consulting Detective

"My dear Watson," said [Sherlock Holmes], "I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers."  
― Arthur Conan Doyle, _The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter _

I walked back into Scotland Yard and up to Gregson's division where I found John and Sherlock in Gregson's office waiting for me. Gregson informed me that they had brought the husband in for questioning like I had requested and that they were all set to start as soon as I was ready. I gave the go ahead to him and followed him back as he led me to the interrogation room. Sherlock, John, and I waited in the side room. I stood by Sherlock's side as the husband was led into the interrogation room where we got to watch him through the one way glass. Gregson and the other Sargent interrogated him for a while, asking him the same questions over and over again to try and get him to slip up and give something away. Either Mantlo hadn't killed his wife which was why he wasn't slipping up or he was really good at sticking to his story. If that was the case, this was something he a rehearsed beforehand. In short, we weren't getting anywhere with him. I looked up at Sherlock and got his attention, pulling his eyes away from the glass.

"You see it too right?" I asked him as I gestured to the husband. John looked between the two of us with uncertainty, not sure what exactly I was asking Sherlock. Sherlock nodded in confirmation before pointing to the man.

"He repeats the same words over and over as if he's rehearsed them. Odd, for a man who just found out his wife was murdered he doesn't seem to be so cut up about it,' Sherlock said, saying the last few words in a quirky way that I couldn't help but smirk over. "That could mean that the marriage was not all too happy or he just doesn't care. I prefer the latter conclusion to the former," Sherlock concluded and I nodded in response. He confirmed my thoughts as to the husband. There was still the fact that she didn't have his name. That was an odd little piece of information if ever I saw one, but I didn't know if it was relevant or not.

"For the last time, I loved my wife. I didn't hurt her, and before this moment, I had no idea there was any safe room in my house," The husband protested. Sherlock and I looked at each other at the same time and rolled our eyes in unison before turning back to the window. I giggled suddenly when I realized how stupid I had been acting earlier. I had seriously gotten all territorial over a crime scene. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in my direction as I regained my composure. To hell with it, I was going to work with Sherlock bloody Holmes. The worst that could happen was that we ended up killing each other. Of course, Sherlock was probably so stubborn that he would come back to life just to solve his own murder.

"You get why that's hard for us to believe, don't you?" Gregson asked the husband as he looked over the top of his reading glasses at him. Oh the reading glasses were out. I smiled remembering some of the old interrogations I had watched. Shit got real when the glasses were on, especially when I put my own case glasses on.

"The place was gutted before Amy and I moved in two years ago. She oversaw all of the construction," The husband said as I raised my phone and took a picture of the husband's hands. John looked over my shoulder at the picture with curiosity, but frowned when he couldn't figure out exactly what I was looking at.

"I'm sorry but, uh, are you saying she had it installed but never told you?" The Sargent asked, speaking from the corner. Gregson looked back at him in the sort of manner that said that the questions should be left to him. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his face as he took his glasses off. The husband claimed that he didn't have any idea at which time Gregson ended the interrogation and walked out of the room. I turned to the door which opened a second later, Gregson and the Sargent filing in.

"I, uh, just wanted to say thanks for helping us out today," The Sargent told me and I snorted as I looked towards Gregson. If he thought I was done, he was sadly mistaken. "You got us our guy and uh…and we're grateful. We can take it from here," He told me as he offered his hand out for me to shake. I stared down at it before smiling at him in that way the made Gregson visibly cringe.

"Respectfully, Sargent, I doubt that very much, because I have reason to believe that Richard Mantlo did not in fact kill his wife," I told the Sargent before nodding at him in finality and walking towards the door. Sherlock fell into step beside me with a smirk on his face as we walked out into the division. It felt good to tell off someone every now and again, of course it was something I normally reserved just for Anderson or Mycroft when he was really annoying me. The Sargent called for me to wait behind us as they were forced to follow after Sherlock and me.

"Come again?" The Sargent asked me as we walked through the hallway and I brought up the picture I had taken of the husband's hands on my phone again. I showed it to the Sargent, reaching across Sherlock to hand him my phone as we stopped in the hallway.

"Dr. Mantlo has girl's feet, or haven't you noticed? He's a size eight, which is saying something because I am a size ten. He has the grisliest feet I have ever seen on a guy before. Now with that bit of information at our disposal, the boot print on his front door was a size eleven," I told him thinking this would be a rather obvious explanation. I was sadly mistaken.

"So, so what? He wore bigger shoes to throw us off," The Sargent protested. Ah facts to suit theories rather than theories supported by facts. It was a capital mistake and unfortunately one made often by the best and the brightest of Scotland Yard. Of course, I said that with no amount of sarcasm at all.

"Did he also wear bigger hands when he strangled his wife?" Sherlock snapped at the Sargent, speaking for the first time in a while, surprisingly defending me. "These strangulation marks are indicative of man much larger than Mantlo. Not just heavier, but taller. I would estimate his height to be somewhere between six foot one and six foot three. Your Medical Examiner will come up with the same conclusion in a couple of hours. You're a doctor John, tell them we're right," Sherlock said gesturing toward John as he snatched my phone back from the Sargent and thrust it into John's hands, showing him the pictures of Mantlo's hands next to the picture I had taken of the victims neck just before I had left the crime scene.

"Um…," John hesitated as he looked between us all, looking rather uncomfortable that we were dragging him into things. "…well, yeah I mean these hands look a little small for the bruise pattern but…," John said before I cut him off. I wasn't trying to be rude, but I knew that John was about to say something about how it was still possible for Mantlo to be the killer even if his hands didn't match up with the marks on Miss Dampier's throat.

"Exactly the point Sherlock and I are trying to make Gregson. With your permission, I would like a moment alone with Dr. Mantlo," I said to Gregson raising an eyebrow as I watched Gregson silently contemplating my request. I knew that I was going to get my way in the end. He had called me in on this case personally and it was in his best interest to let me do my work without hindering me. He knew as well as I did that if he gave me what I needed, we could wrap up this case far sooner than if I was forced to fight him at every turn. It wasn't like I didn't know how to talk to suspects either. Gregson himself had taught me a few interrogation techniques and he knew that Lestrade had personally trained me as well as Mycroft. I could act professional when I had to be. I didn't like doing it, but I could…possibly. Well, that would remain to be seen.

"You or you and Holmes?" Gregson asked me pointedly as he looked between the two of us, as if he was unsure about the partnership we seemed to have. I knew what he thought of Sherlock, but it was up to me to change his mind.

I actually was starting to like working with Sherlock. We were actually a rather good team when we were working together. Holmes and MacKenna, I rather liked the sound of that. Of course, you couldn't forget the third member of our trio, Watson. Ah, my dear Doctor Watson. John was officially a friend of mine already. He reminded me of a hedgehog, especially after he had just gotten out of the shower and his hair was all sticky uppy. I laid my claim to the good doctor and I wasn't sure I wanted to share him with Sherlock yet. You only met someone like John once in a long while and I was not going to be giving him up any time soon. As I had said in Bart's lab, this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. My claim didn't just apply to John however. I was rather attached to Sherlock now too. There was just something about the consulting detective that always made me smile. He amused me, especially when he would get into one of his moods. I couldn't even be bothered when he snapped at me like he had only a few times that morning.

"Sherlock and I," I told Gregson with a note of finality in my voice that told him I wasn't going to budge on the matter. He watched me closely for a long moment as if testing whether he should or not. We squared off as he contemplated his decision. On one hand he knew he wasn't going to budge me on the matter so he would have to accept Sherlock's help as well as mine on this case if he let me talk to Mantlo, but if he refused to let me talk to him because I wanted Sherlock with me than this case would end up coming to a standstill. I wasn't giving him a choice and I knew that he knew that I knew it if that made any sense. I was trying to get him to accept Sherlock's help as well as mine so that he could see just how good Sherlock was, especially for me.

"You've got two minutes," Gregson told me finally as if he was reluctant to give me this permission. I beamed at him as I cried in delight, knowing that I had at least gotten him to accept Sherlock a little bit. I grabbed Sherlock's hand as I pulled him towards the interrogation room. I was slightly surprised when he let me drag him behind me and didn't try to shake me off. I looked back at him and saw that his expression was passive as he stared down at me. I heard the Sargent protesting this as we headed back to the interrogation room but Gregson ignored him, calling back to me instead. "Two minutes Lexi, do you hear me?"

"Oui mon capitaine! Loud and clear, two minutes!" I called back to him, looking over my shoulder and saluting him with my hand that was not wrapped around Sherlock's. I heard him sigh loudly just before I opened the door and burst in with Sherlock. I opened the door with enough force that it slammed into the wall causing Mantlo to jump and stare at what probably to him looked like a very crazy girl. Oh if only he knew. I grabbed a pen and a notepad from my case bag and slammed them down on the table in front of Mantlo, leaning over the table with a hand on either end of it as I got my face close to Mantlo's. I was trying to show some level of authority over the situation since I had deduced that Mantlo didn't often listen to women. He was the dominate type. "Tall men in your life, I want a list of them," I demanded him and he looked up startled. He looked between Sherlock and I, watching us carefully as if checking that I was serious before reaching forward and taking the pen and paper and scribbling a list. As soon as he handed it back I grinned at him before Sherlock and I breezed out of the room as he threw us the oddest look. Yeah, we got that a lot. We strode past Gregson and John who were still waiting in the hallway for us to return. I wouldn't put it past Gregson to actually time me to make sure that I was only in there for two minutes. I knew that with me having been gone for four years he had some reserves about how much leeway he gave me. Lestrade and Gregson weren't necessarily supposed to consult it really wasn't legal for civilians to take part in police investigations, but when they got desperate, bending a few rules didn't seem all that bad. Thankfully, the Sargent who was getting on my nerves was nowhere in sight. "A list of all the tall men in their lives. Sherlock and I will start there, see if they knew anything, get an idea of who might have wanted to kill Amy Dampier," I told Gregson showing him the list after he had caught up with us, John trailing after him.

"Alright, but I want you to keep me updated. That doesn't mean after you solved everything. I want regular updates on the case," Gregson relented after a moment. He was hesitant to give me free reign, but he knew that he had invited me on this case so he really couldn't complain about anything I did.

"Will do. John, you are coming with us," I called to John over my shoulder as Sherlock and I breezed down the hallway, our coats swishing behind us. I looked over at Sherlock who was smirking once again. "Don't look so smug. Fine, you can work with me on the case," I told him smacking him on the arm playfully. He looked down at me, his nose wrinkling adorably at the gesture. I giggled at him before rushing ahead of him through the division. I reached the door and looked back at him with a grin before I darted out of the door and down the stairs. I waited for Sherlock and John at the bottom of the stairs and we walked outside together, but not before we stopped in the door way and Sherlock and I looked at each other, flipping up the collars of our coats in unison. Sherlock hailed us a cab and the three of us slid into the backseat. Sherlock gave the cabbie the address for the hospital the victim's husband worked for, the first stop for us.

"What am I doing here?" John asked us as we finally had a moment alone. I turned to him grinning as I leaned back in the cab, relaxing. I was slightly leaning up against the detectives shoulder and he didn't seem particularly bothered by it or at least it didn't seem that way. That wasn't to say that he wasn't sitting as rigidly as possible, but he was still allowing me to stay.

"You are solving cases with Sherlock and me. I thought that was obvious," I told him as Sherlock sighed heavily beside me. I patted him on the arm as I continued to look at John. I glanced back at him and saw he was staring down at my hand as if he was trying to figure out why it was there.

"Yeah, but why am I here. Why do you need me?" John prompted us and I shrugged as I looked back at Sherlock. We didn't need him so much on the cases, but we needed someone like John. John was all heart and brave, so brave. We needed someone like him, even if we didn't truly understand why.

"You are helping us prove a point John. Besides, we find your help to be beneficial," I told him as I unlocked my phone and texted Mycroft an update about the case. He responded back a second later saying he was in a meeting and I sent him back a frowny face just to annoy him.

It was customary for the two of us to fight like siblings and try to get on each other's nerves. Our arguments were never as bad as Sherlock and Mycroft's however and that was probably because he wasn't actually my brother. Mycroft had to put more effort into our relationship than he did with Sherlock's relationship with him. Sherlock and Mycroft were related so they could couldn't get rid of each other if they tried, but ours wasn't like that. Part of me could understand that to some extent Mycroft tried harder to be a big brother to me because I reminded him of Sherlock and he held a lot of regret for not always being a brother to Sherlock. I knew that this level of sibling rivalry hadn't just been something that started when they got older. They had probably been like this since they were children. I wasn't sure if it was possible for Mycroft and Sherlock to ever forgive each other for everything that had happened between them, but one could always hope that someday they would at least learn to be more civil towards each other. That was something I could work on though.

We arrived at the hospital which was our first destination and Sherlock paid the cabbie before we slid from the back seat of the cab. We shared a look with each other before we swept off side by side into the hospital with John in tow. John was valuable to our cases, but by having him there it meant that he wouldn't be spending time alone in the flat where he could resume his limping. I inquired at the reception desk where we would find a certain Mr. Polk who the victim's husband claimed had made a pass at his wife. We were directed up to the fifth floor and the receptionist assured us that she would let him know we were on our way up to meet him. We took the lift for John's sake and I smirked slightly as I watched Sherlock huffing with impatience as he stood in front of the doors waiting for them to open. When the lift finally reached the fifth floor, Sherlock shot out through the doors before making his way down in the direction of Mr. Polk's office. I followed after him rolling my eyes fondly at the detective's actions with a grin on my face. We were met by Mr. Polk at his office and he agreed to take a walk with us and answer any questions we might have.

"Amy was a good person, but if you're here because you think I had something to do with it…," The man started out as we walked down the ward with him. Sherlock was making deductions about him as we spoke while I focused on other aspects of the man. Working with Sherlock actually did make for a good partnership, the way we deduced things was different. Meaning we each discovered different things in the same person.

"Dr. Mantlo said you made a pass at her at a holiday party last year," I said cutting the man off. I was not about to listen about how he was innocent and blah dee blah dee blah. It was always the same story with these people. They couldn't have done it because they were a good person and would have no reason to kill the person. Anyone could be a murderer. Polk stopped walking, bringing us all to a halt. I cocked my head to the side as I studied him, trying to figure out more about his relationship to the victim.

"Actually no, I didn't," He snapped at me before continuing. "I asked her about all the plastic surgery she had." Yes, I was right about that back at the house. So she had plastic surgery and didn't want anyone to see any pictures of her from before.

"Plastic surgery?" I asked him excitedly as he caught my interest. I flashed a grin at Sherlock who was still looking bored. Well, I needed to fix that.

"Okay, look, I helped plan a fund raiser for the hospital two years ago, that was before the surgeries. I know I still have the pictures," Mr. Polk told us before striding off towards his office. I shrugged at Sherlock before following off after him.

We followed him into his office where Sherlock discretely scanned the room as Mr. Polk looked up the pictures on his computer. I scanned the room myself, clean office, two chairs and a desk. Void of many personal touches. The only thing that seemed out of place in the room was the clothing and shoe box on one of the chairs. John nudged me suddenly, giving me a look before he gestured to the shoe box. Size eleven feet, an unusual coincidence, but one none the less. Mr. Polk found what he was looking for as I turned back to John and nodded to show that I had seen what he meant.

"There," Mr. Polk said as he swivelled his computer screen around for us to see. "That's a picture of Amy and Dr. Mantlo that I took that night, okay? Tell me you wouldn't want to ask her why she did it," He said defensively as we looked down at the picture of Amy before her plastic surgery. She looked completely different than she did now, she had even dyed her hair from blonde to red.

"Tell me about the stalking charge brought against you?" I asked the man trying to look imposing. Being the little Irish consultant did not have the same effect as Sherlock with his tall, dark, mysterious and cold demeanour had.

"I asked my neighbour out. She overreacted," The man said and I raised my eyebrow. Yeah, whenever I get asked out on a date I just assume someone is stalking me. Not that I get asked out on dates, but my reaction would still be the same hypothetically. I didn't have enough first-hand experience. I technically had never been on a date before or even kissed so I wasn't really one to go to for relationship advice.

"Mr. Polk can you tell us where you were last night?" John asked him, his military stance coming back. Sherlock and I both looked at him, surprised that he had spoken up.

"Home…alone. I know, Not much of an alibi, but I don't care, because I didn't do it," Mr. Polk told us and I looked up to Sherlock who nodded at me, confirming my thoughts that we were done here.

"Well then, thank you for your time. I think that is all the questions we had for you," I said putting emphasis on my Irish lilt as I let it slip through. "Sherlock, John," I said as I moved to the door, ready to leave. John and Sherlock joined me as we walked down the ward and Sherlock made the choice of taking the stairs.

"So, he has the same shoe size. Is he the murderer?" John asked us as he struggled to keep up with us. I looked back to him with a grin as I pulled out my phone to text Gregson and update him with what was going on in the case. I let him know that we would be heading back to Baker Street to review the evidence and see if we could make a connection to one of the people on the list we had been given.

"No, not the murderer, but good John, very good find," I complimented him as I stowed my phone away. "His body language said "sub", not "dom". I don't think he would actually have the berries to take another life," I explained to John before I looked over at Sherlock. "We should head back to Baker Street and review the evidence. That might find us a better lead than interviewing everyone," I suggested as we reached the first floor and headed for the exit.

"I agree, this process is become tedious," Sherlock told me with a note of boredom in his voice as he stepped out and flagged down a taxi for us. We piled into the back of the cab which sped off towards Baker Street. I needed some of the things from my flat if we were going to be reviewing things. Hopefully Mycroft had already had what he knew I would need brought over.

"So this is what you do for a living? You solve puzzles?" John asked us as London rushed by outside the cab windows. I nodded at John with a grin.

"Yes, wonderful right?" I asked him before turning to the cabbie. "Stop here please," I told him without giving an explanation to either John or Sherlock. The cabbie pulled over and stopped like I requested and I motioned for Sherlock to exit the cab. He slid from the taxi, looking at me curiously before I got out behind him. John stared up at me in confusion from inside the cab and I huffed. "John, sometime today," I told him before he jumped and moved, getting out of the cab beside me. I leaned inside the open window and paid the cab driver before stepping up onto the street, pulling my jacket around me.

"Why did we stop here? We're a few blocks away," John asked me as he and Sherlock joined my trek down the street. I linked my arms with him and a disgruntled Sherlock before grinning widely.

"Because I happen to know of a little pub that sells the best fish and chips this side of the city and it's time for lunch," I told him as I led them down to the little Irish pub I had discovered just after I first moved to London. The Auld Dubliner was a favourite of mine when I was looking for some good food from home. I opened the door for them and ushered them inside the pub, leading them to one of the back booths further away from the door and the rest of the patrons. I slid into the booth next to Sherlock before I got the attention of the man behind the bar and he came bounding over with a booming laugh upon catching sight of me.

"Lexi MacKenna!" The man said in a thick Irish brogue as he came and slapped his hands down on the table in front of me and stared at me. The older man had grey curling hair and a moustache and beard to match.(**A/N I imagine him looking like Billy Connoly**) His thick eyebrows were lifted in his amusement and his eyes crinkled as he boomed merrily again. "A sight for sore eyes if ever I saw one lass," He said as he straightened up and clapped me on the arm. "And who are your gentleman friends?" He asked me with a mischievous grin as he looked between Sherlock and John. Sherlock was smirking slightly, but John was fidgeting in his seat at having been put on the spot.

"Leave them alone Fergus," I told the man as I slapped him on his arm. My accent was thick as I spoke and John looked at me with wide eyes while Sherlock only smirked wider. "Tis John and Sherlock," I told him introducing them, falling right back into my old manner of talking.

"Well, any mates of yours are always welcomed here. You're usual?" He asked me and I nodded with a grin. I could already smell the beer battered fish and the chips cooked to perfection. This was one of my favourite places to come when I was working on cases. I would celebrate here with Gregson after we a solved a particularly difficult case. Fergus' sons Connor and Murphy ran the pub with him, they were slightly younger than me and both rascals, but Fergus kept them in line.

"Aye, but we'll leave off the Guinness, I'm on a case," I told him and he looked at leaned back looking at me pointedly. I peeked over at Sherlock who I found to be deducing Fergus. I caught his eye and smirked slightly before turning back to Fergus.

"Aye is that it? Back to working on the cases are ye? I thought you said you we done with that," Fergus teased raising one of his eyebrows. I smacked him on the arm again as I laughed. Fergus teased me more than anyone, probably because he said I was a spitfire of a little Irish lass.

"Oh shove off," I told him with a laugh and he raised his hands in a defensive gesture before he grinned and backed away from our table grinning.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Fergus told me with another booming laugh. "Just sit there lassie, it'll be out in a bit," He told me before he left us and headed for the kitchen. I rolled my eyes at his retreating form before turning back to look at John.

"That's Fergus," I told John, my accent still thick. I didn't even both to try and cover it up like I normally did. When I was working, I reverted to my British accent as it sounded more professional and made it easier to conduct interviews with witnesses, but when I was not consulting I tended to slip into my Irish brogue. "Don't mind him, he likes to tease people," I continued before I looked back at Sherlock. "So what did you learn? Share with the class," I told him with a grin as I put a hand under my chin and grinned at him expectantly.

"Sixties, not married, has two sons, obviously, he was yelling with them in the kitchen just now. You know him well enough so this is some place you frequent often. Probably because he reminds you of your grandfather who died when you were a teenager," Sherlock told me, his deep baritone fitting right in in a place like this. I smiled at him and nodded with a grin.

"Aye, another brilliant deduction," I told Sherlock as Fergus returned with three frozen mugs of the house speciality drink, a frozen cream soda and butterscotch brew. "Cheers!" I thanked him as I raised my cup and saluted him with it before drinking. Sherlock eyed his own mug as John picked his up and took a sip making an appreciative sound. "There's no alcohol in it Lock. I wasn't lying when I said I don't uphold the Irish stereotype," I told Sherlock who threw me an irritated look before he picked up his mug and took a sip. He swallowed quickly before setting his mug down and grimacing. I could see in his eyes however that he liked the brew, of course he would never give me the satisfaction of knowing this fact. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it," I told Sherlock as I moved to slide his mug away from it. He caught it before I could and picked it up taking another sip before he set it down on the other side of him away from me. I looked up at John and we both smiled at each other in amusement.

"Here we are. Just as you like it," Fergus said as he came over, his arms ladened with three baskets of fish and chips. He set them in front of us before leaning back and grabbing a bottle of malt vinegar for me from one of the other tables. "Enjoy lass," He told me before he moved away back to the bar. John looked down at his basket and dug in with gusto as I poured vinegar over my chips and fish. Sherlock looked down at his with distain and I saw that look in his eyes again that he gave me before he said he wasn't hungry that morning.

"It's not going to kill you," I joked as I picked up one of my chips and popped it into my mouth as I watched him pointedly. I sighed in contentment as the salty vinegar chip hit my taste buds. It was like a little tiny corner of heaven. John looked equally as happy, but Sherlock only looked irritated.

"I don't eat when I'm working on cases, digestion slows me down," Sherlock remarked as he sat back in his seat and folded his palms under his chin as he flicked his gaze over the other patrons, deducing them.

"Aye, but technically you aren't working on case. Tis my case which I might ask you a question about on occasion," I pointed out with a little grin, finding a loophole to his 'I don't eat on case' malarkey. Sherlock eyed me for a long moment, seemingly considering what I had said. Without warning his hand darted forward and he stole one of my chips. "Oi!" I shouted at him, trying to slap his hand away, but he had already popped the chip in his mouth and chewed it with a triumphant grin on his face.

"Problem?" He asked me with a raised eyebrow as John laughed hysterically as he watched our bickering.

"Yes, you have your own," I told him as I slid my food closer to me and stuck my tongue out at him. "And you…" I said as I rounded on John who stopped laughing as soon as I fixed my gaze on him. "…better watch yourself Watson," I warned him causing him to look slightly alarmed as he probably was remembering my reaction to Anderson.

"Fighting words if ever I heard any," Fergus remarked as he walked over to our table. "I'd watch out for this one lads. There's a reason we call her the little Irish spitfire around here," Fergus told them, jumping back before I could smack him again. He winked at me with a smirk on his face before he walked away to go scold his sons again. Apparently the boys were getting up to their antics again.

I grumbled to myself as I ate another chip. Sherlock was smirking as he actually started eating his own food. I took out my phone and before he could protest, snapped a picture of him just as he took a bite of his fish. I grinned as he shot me an irritated look as I texted the picture off to Mycroft with the caption, 'A wild Sherlock emerges and partakes in the battered fish.' I giggled to myself as I realized that I could start a whole nature documentary. Maybe Mycroft could get a hold of David Attenborough for me. I could already picture it. 'The consulting detective is seen here in his natural habitat.' John and Sherlock both looked at me as I continued to giggle before John just shrugged at Sherlock and carried on eating.

"Don't judge me with your judgy eyes," I told Sherlock who quirked an eyebrow at me questioningly before I took a bite of my fish and ignored him. The three of us finished our lunch, John striking up a conversation with me about some of the things I used to do over at Bart's. Sherlock seemed interested to learn that I used to use the labs for experiments, though he remained silent and only stared at me in that semi creepy way where you just knew he was studying you. The looks really didn't bother me though. Most people might feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but I had no problems with it at all.

I sat back as I pushed my basket away from me and took a sip of my still frozen brew. I couldn't believe how much my life had changed in just three days. In three days, I had met John and Sherlock, got caught up in the killer cabbie case as I was now calling it, and I was now working as a consulting detective again. I liked the title that Sherlock had come up with, it sounded far more professional. As odd as it seemed, it was so easy to just get back into my old ways and old routines. Four years later and it seemed like I had never left. I hadn't made deductions like this in years, but it was like a muscle memory, you never truly forgot how to do it. I was proud of myself to be sure. This was the first time I had actually worked with someone who could see the same things I could, make the same connections I did. John was as valuable as Sherlock as well. Working with them made a difference. Sherlock was, well, annoying at times, but he was no worse than Mycroft. Actually, scratch that, he was actually better than Mycroft. Though I might never admit it out loud, I sort of enjoyed the companionship we had fallen into.

At least if I was going to be living with two people, they could understand me and my odd quirks. Sherlock and I would probably get on just fine and with all the patience John seemed to have, he and I would be thick as thieves after a while. Fergus was right when he said I hadn't earned my title as a spitfire for nothing. Sherlock and John were completely safe, for now at least. The only one on my burn list currently was Anderson and he was extremely lucky that I was exhibiting a fair amount of self-control of late. If Sherlock wanted my help on one of his cases, I would offer it without question. If he chose instead to want to keep me out of it, I would comply with his wishes. I wasn't here to take over his job. With that being said, I would work with him on my own cases. I enjoyed his and John's company. If anything it offered up some amusement. Fergus came by the clear off the table and I tried to hand him over some bills, but he waved them off.

"I won't accept that from you lass. Think of it as celebrating your return to the business you were meant to be in," He told me, putting emphasis on the word meant. I began to protest but he waved me off. "Get back to yer case lassie and think no more of it," He told me before he walked away so I wouldn't be able to argue with him. I shook my head at his retreating form before sighing and standing.

"Well, we best head back to Baker Street. Maybe Mycroft will have moved my stuff over already," I remarked as Sherlock and John slid out of the booth. I pulled my mittens back on and wrapped my coat around me tighter as we stepped out into the brisk London air once again. I linked arms with John and Sherlock again as we took off down the street, heading back to the flat. I giggled as John told me some stories about some of his military buddies. Sherlock watched us in silence, but I caught him smirking on occasion.

Mrs. Hudson let us back into the flat and started tittering away, telling us that some men had been over while we were out and brought in a lot of boxes up stairs. "There was a lovely girl with them. Oh what was her name? Anthea I think was. She told me to tell you that she had all your stuff unpacked dear," Mrs. Hudson told me as she followed us up into the flat. My stuff had been moved around the flat and Anthea had set up my book case in the back corner. The room had a little more clutter to it now which didn't bother me at all, in fact I thought it added a bit more character to the room. I breezed into my bedroom and noted that Anthea had stacked my case files up in the corner or at least the few boxes of case files I had in my flat. There was a note pinned to one of the boxes that said Mycroft was keeping the rest of him at his flat for me. I grinned as I crumpled the note and pulled my giant cork board out from where Anthea had stowed it and brought it into the living room. I threw John my phone as I pulled the board in front of the fireplace and pulled John and Sherlock's chairs aside.

"Text Gregson and ask him to email me the crime scene photos," I told John as Sherlock walked back into his room, obviously taking inventory to make sure none of Mycroft's men had touched any of his stuff. John sighed in exasperation before he complied with my request. I took my laptop from my case bag and booted it up, putting it on one of Sherlock's desks.

"He said he just sent them over," John told me as he threw my phone back over to me. I caught it gingerly and put it on the desk next to my laptop.

"Cheers John!" I said, flashing a smile at him before I turned back to my computer and typed in my password. Sherlock sat in his chair watching my progress as I connected my laptop with his printer and printed out my crime scene photos.

I ran back into my room and found my Sharpies, thumb tacks and tape, and my poster sized paper. I brought my craft supplies back into the living room and started setting up my board as John and Sherlock watched me with interest. I hummed La Habanera under my breath as I taped the paper to my board and started tacking up the pictures, drawing lines and writing names on the paper in my red Sharpie. It was a sort of visual representation of the way my brain processed the information on the case. Once I was satisfied with my work I stepped back to admire my collage before nodding and picking up my viola on my way over to Sherlock's chair. I sat down, earning an irritated look from Sherlock for this action, and started tuning it as I studied my board. John stared at it before looking back at me. Sherlock on the other hand had adopted his prayer pose and was lost in his own thoughts. I narrowed my eyes at my board before lifting my viola up to my chin and playing a few notes. I begun playing Bach's Partitia No. 2 in D Minor. It was supposed to be played on the violin, but I found that I liked the sounds of the notes better on the viola. John watched me play in almost awe as my fingers moved quickly across the strings. I closed my eyes and let the images flash through my mind as I tried to make sense of the case. I frowned as my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone climbing the stairs. The sounds of someone clearing their throat made me open on eye, but I continued playing.

"It's you," John said in disbelief as my eyes fell on Mycroft. I opened my eyes fully and saw that he had a bust tucked up under his arm. I grinned as he nodded his head in my direction. I stopped playing instantly and set my viola down, leaning it up against Sherlock's chair, and darted over to him, taking the bust from him.

"You brought Angus!" I said with delight as I regarded my bust. It was actually a bust of Mozart, but I digressed. "Yorrick has a friend now," I told Sherlock with a grin as I crossed over to the mantle and set him up next to the skull. "Yup, just what the flat needed," I said as I turned back to Mycroft who was leaning against his umbrella casually as Sherlock started at him murderously. "Oh hey, no domestics in the flat," I warned them as John looked worriedly between the two of them.

"No worries, I just came to bring that monstrosity over," Mycroft said with a grin and I frowned at him. Angus a monstrosity? Never!

"That's rude, he has feelings you know! Don't worry I love you Angus," I told the bust as I looked over at it. John coughed and I looked down at him and rolled my eyes before I went and plopped down in Sherlock's chair again, swinging my legs over the arm of the chair.

"Hmm amusing. Your bees have been relocated to the roof," Mycroft drawled as he flicked lint off of his jacket before looking down at his nails in disinterest.

"Wait sorry? Bees?" John asked me as I grinned back at Mycroft. He even relocated my bees for me. I had two hives that I had painstakingly set up and had taken care of for the last four years. It was one of the reasons why I was so interested in Sherlock's book on beekeeping. Well, maybe we could bond over the bees. It had started off as just something for a case but then I had gotten quite interested in the whole thing and had ended up with two hives before I had known it.

"Yup, bees. I have two hives. Don't worry, they're docile…mostly," I assured him as I picked up my viola and resumed playing. "I'm writing a book. Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. Up here," I told John as I pointed to my head. "I'm on Chapter 19 right now," I told him before I turned back to Mycroft. "Thank you for moving them Croft."

"Of course, I'll leave you to your case," He told me before he looked over at Sherlock who was still watching him murderously. "Always good to see you brother mine," Mycroft told him smiling tightly.

"Piss off Mycroft," Sherlock snapped at his brother as he sneered at him. Yeah, getting them to be civil towards each other was going to take a lot of work.

"Boys, play nicely," I chided as I rose and put my viola away. I ushered Mycroft to the stairs with a sigh. Why did I have to play the referee between them? Their feud was absolutely childish. "Now, you have that meeting with the Ambassador of Belgium to attend. You know how he hates it when people are late," I reminded Mycroft who only stared back at me passively. "Oh and Anthea told me that last week. I didn't hack your schedule again," I told him as I patted his arm.

"Try not to burn down London," Mycroft remarked which was as fond of a farewell as I was going to get. He walked down the stairs and I snorted as I followed him down.

"Yeah because I am just itching to burn down the city at every waking moment Croft. Now run along while I go back up there and convince Lock not to murder you," I told Mycroft who raised an eyebrow at the nickname I had given Sherlock. It had taken Mycroft two years to earn his and it had only taken Sherlock a full day before he had gotten his. I didn't know what the meant exactly. I opened the door for him and Anthea was standing there waiting outside on her phone in front of Mycroft's black car. "Anthea, thank you for moving in my stuff," I thanked her from the door way as Mycroft walked over to his waiting car.

"You're welcome," She told me, looking up from her phone for a brief second to flash me a brilliant smile before she looked back down at her phone. I shook my head at her as she wordlessly slipped into the car, her eyes still glued to her phone. I happened to know for a fact that she didn't always do work on there. I had caught her playing Tetris more than once.

"Take care of yourself," Mycroft told me before he got into the car. I saluted him dutifully before his car pulled away. I stepped back inside out of the cold and shut the door behind me, leaning against it as I laughed to myself and shook my head in disbelief. If one Holmes brother was bad, knowing two should earn me a medal.

I pushed myself off of the door and stomped my way back up to the flat. John looked around at me looking baffled as I noted that Sherlock had disappeared. Probably to his room to have a little tantrum over Mycroft invading his fortress of solitude. "Well Watson, looks like it's just you and me," I remarked as I sat back in Sherlock's chair and stared at my board. "Now, who killed Amy Dampire?" I asked him as I picked up my viola again and mulled over the question I had posed. "There's something that doesn't make sense. Let's poke it with a stick," I remarked as I began playing one of my own compositions that had been on my mind since I met the consulting detective, I liked to call it Ode to the Consulting Detective.

**(A/N) The song she is playing is Pursuit which can be found on the first Sherlock soundtrack if you want to hear it. Imagine it played on a violin or better yet, check YouTube for someone that actually has. ViolinistBAKA has a great version of it. Technically she is play The Game Is On part. **


	13. Meeting the British Government Special

**(A/N) I was going to wait to post this until I had 100 followers but I love you all so much that I am posting it early. Just so you are all aware of to things. mOne this chapter is not a continuation of the case and that will be posted at the end of next week. This is a chapter that explains how Lexi and Mycroft first met! Yea! Secondly, FanFiction is messing up which means I can't upload chapters like I normally do. I had to copy and paste this chapter and then go through to fix it because it was all one long paragraph. I'm hoping that this issue will be resolved by the end of next week when I go to post another chapter because this was already a pain to post and it was half as long as the next chapter. If I still can't upload the chapter I will post a note and the chapter will be posted to my Tumbler page until the problem gets fixed. Thank you for following and favoriting my story and sticking with me thus far. Lots more to come! Cheers-KattieHolmes**

* * *

I got myself ready in my dingy flat. It was a hell hole with mould growing growing around the yellow wall paper. It was like a really bad horror movie with the lights that flickered and plumbing that made noises in the dead of night. All I had was my bed, a few changes of clothes, and my science equipment. When I had left Ireland over two years ago I had only taken the bare essentials with me. I had yet to purchase anything else so my flat was void of all personal touches. I didn't really care about possessions anyway. They really didn't fit into my drug habit. I looked at myself in the mirror and scoffed aloud when I saw my reflection. I was wearing the most expensive dress I could afford at the moment. It was a beautiful black dress with a v neck front that plunged down showing an ample amount of cleavage. The sleeves were long owing to the slight chill in the air as it was nearing September. There was a huge silver star pattern on one side and key hole cut out in the back of the dress. The most defining feature however might have been the slit up one side. I paired the dress with a pair of silver stilettos that looked rather expensive and I set of jewellery that looked expensive, but wasn't. As long as I looked and acted the part I would be fine. Tonight I was weaselling my way into a government party for a case.

I was going to be under the guise that I was the French Ambassadors daughter which was why I had needed the dress and my hair to be up in the most uncomfortable twisted up do. All of the bobby pins were pressing into my skull and I doubted I would last all night before the urge to tear them all out over came me need to act respectable. I could smooze up to people to find out more about the government official's wife that had been murdered. I had learnt a bit of French, enough to get through the night. I doubted everyone would know it, odds are probably not. The French Ambassador was known to have a daughter of course I had checked and no one at the party had ever met her. Since the Ambassador himself wasn't coming I was all clear to be able to pull of my big heist. Government officials were some of the most unobservant lot. If you acted like you were important and projected confidence you could fool them into thinking anything. They were all posh idiots in my opinion. I looked down at the prepared syringe on my bathroom counter. That was the other reason I had to go for long sleeves. I constantly had to hide my arms under jumpers even in the dead of summer just so Lestrade wouldn't find out about my drug habit. I didn't even know when I had started with it, at least I couldn't remember exactly. I contemplated just taking a little to get me through the night, but I immediately discarded the thought. I had to be on my game tonight. I was trying to quit, but the withdrawal symptoms always stopped me from being able to.

With one final once over to make sure everything was in place, I grabbed my small hand bag and marched out of my flat ready for battle. I hailed a cab, the cabbie looking me over. Single, frequents gentleman's clubs. That was why he had stopped in the first place. I told him to take me to Buckingham Palace and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he looked back at me and then the flat I had just come out of. I wasn't exactly living in the richest part of London. "You sure that's where you want to go?" The cabbie asked me his Cockney accent thick.

"Oui zat is where I am going," I told the cabbie in my French accent that I adopted for the night and he shrugged, turning back in his seat before he pulled out onto the road which was thankfully traffic free.

"Suit yourself lady," The cabbie told me as he started driving. "So French huh?" He asked me and I could catch him looking at me from the review mirror. From the height of his eyes and the trajectory of the mirror I could tell he was looking somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Oui," I told him before looking out of the car window. I could already feel the headache coming on. I should have taken just a little before I left but it was too late now. I already had a plan for how to get past security at Buckingham Palace and I had created the essential forms of identification for the evening. Combine that with my skills and I was ready for the night to begin.

As soon as the cabbie pulled up at the gates of the palace, I paid him and he looked at me oddly before he drove off obviously wondering who in hell I was. I grinned at that. If only he knew. Lexi MacKenna detective for the police, but not actually working for them and drug addict. Well, tonight I was Jacqueline Delattre, French Ambassador's daughter. I just had to get in first. I already knew that everyone was arriving through a separate entrance instead of the front gates. I couldn't just go and walk into the entrance without arriving in a fancy car. Therefore, I had figured out the security measures put in place for the evening. It had taken some hacking , a few weeks of dating one of the guardsmen and getting him drunk, the Brits can't tolerate their liquor well, before I was able to figure out how the set up was. All of the guardsmen would be at the other entrance which meant that I had to find another way in. Just around the corner there was a dim lit area where a large tree grew, its branches hanging over the side of the high gates. I didn't get my nickname of 009 for nothing. It was time to put my skills to the test.

I took two hair elastics out of my purse and gathered my skirt up into two ball on either side of the slit before tying them in place so my legs were free. I took off my heels next and threw them over the fence. I timed it just right so the CCTV camera was on a sweep of the yard and not of the gate at the time. I started climbing, thankful for the low branches and then froze as the camera panned back around. These were motion censored. If they sensed movement they would snap a picture and alert security. The camera slowly panned back towards the yard and I let out a sigh of relief as I climbed further before repeating the process. It took three times of the start and stop process before I was sitting on a branch inside the compound. I waited until the camera panned away before dropping to the ground, rolling as I hit it so that I wouldn't hurt myself. I laid on the ground where I ended as the camera passed over my again. As soon as it swung away I grinned to myself. That had been way too easy. Maybe I would put in a recommendation that they tighten security after this. I got up, grabbing my heels and slipping into the shadows. I remembered how far the cameras caught and I was able to time my run in between two cameras. It was a lot of dodging security measures, but in the end I had made it up to the house. I knew that everyone would be on the back terrace which was where I could slip in to the party unnoticed.

I walked the perimeter of the palace before stopping within a short distance of the sounds of ballroom music. I quickly undid the elastics around my dress and put my heels back on. I did a final check on my hair before I walked forward towards the sounds of life. I was nervous yes, I could get caught at any second and I knew Lestrade wouldn't be able to get me out of this. He had already put enough on the line for me in the past when I did something that wasn't strictly legal while working on a case. If I was caught my ass was grass as the Americans would say. When I was within eyesight of the terrace, I was relieved to find everyone in the middle of conversations and therefore not paying attention to the girl walking up to the terrace from the lawn. I crept over to a dark area of the terrace and slipped over the wall as gracefully as a cat before straightening myself out and striding from the shadows. I froze for a few seconds, waiting for someone to point at me and say something about me being here, but no one so much as said anything. I sighed in relief before I started walking through the throng of government officials.

My best bet tonight was to act like I didn't know much English. I threw myself into the crowd of people milling about and drinking expensive champagne. I grabbed myself a glass from a passing waiter before I found myself a good observational point. I slowly started going through everyone in the room trying to deduce them. I knew that the officials wife had been killed by someone in the government, but I didn't know the who or the why. The first hour passed without me getting caught and my confidence grew immensely. I started mingling with the other guest, introducing myself as Jacqueline Delattre. No one saw through my ruse and they were actually quite amused as I "struggled" to speak in English. I threw a lot of French words in there as well. Smoozing was easy. All I had to do was flirt with the older men for them to start telling me things, including things about the official's wife who I found out had a pretty nasty temper. Charm worked wonders for getting what you wanted. It worked enough times on Lestrade which was why I had my own office at the Yard. Two more hours into the party and I had the feeling that someone was watching me which was unnerving to say the least. I looked around and found the man who was watching me. He was tall, younger than a lot of the men here and wore an immaculate three piece suit that I bet cost a pretty penny. He had a high forehead and a sophisticatedly cut short brownish ginger hair. His eyes looked right through me and I couldn't help the frown that slipped through the mask I had put on for the evening. It looked like he was reading me. His face was turned up in a grimace and his eyes never left me as I milled about the party.

I tried to ignore the man watching me, but I snuck peeks at him every so often. I always did it while talking to someone who was sitting in that direction so it wouldn't seem obvious. I didn't like the way he was watching me. It felt, well it felt like he was reading me like I did to people. The music started up and the dancing began. I stood back near the wall, bored to tears already and just hoping that the evening would end soon. My headache had gotten worse and the nausea and chills had started. I really should have taken just a little before I had left. I hadn't taken any in a while before then too. I jumped when I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around and came face to face with the gentleman who had been watching me most of the night. He was doing it again, reading me, but it was much different now that we were closer together. I read him as well. Government official, more power than he lets on, in his forties, younger brother who he doesn't get along with, stress lines meant hard day at work, not married. I was surprised to learn that I couldn't get anything else from him. All of those readings had been basic and surface level, but I couldn't read anything deeper than that. I definitely didn't like that.

"Would you care to dance?" The gentleman asked me his voice light and very posh. His frown turned up into a tight smile and I could almost see the challenge he posed in his eyes. He was seeing if I would take the bait. I put my hand in his offered one and nodded.

"Oui," I told him and let him lead me over to the dance floor where we positioned ourselves for a waltz. We started dancing and I was instantly thankful for the dancing classes that my grandfather had forced me to take when I was a girl.

"I don't believe we have met before," The man said as we turned around the dance floor. I laughed, trying to hide my nervousness. He made me uneasy. It felt like he could see right through my guise.

"No, I do not believe I 'ave had the pleasure," I told him, laying on my French accent thickly. He raised an eyebrow at this before he started speaking in fluent French.

"Pourrais-je vous demander votre nom?"(Might I ask what your name is?) He asked me his words sliding out so flawlessly. I was instantly confused as I had no idea what he was saying. He saw the hint of confusion on my face and grinned. I knew I was screwed. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't like the rest of the officials who had been so easily fooled. "Vous êtes évidemment pas français et mentez," (You are obviously not French and are lying) The man continued looking smug as I started to really panic. "So," The man said reverting to English. "I'll ask you again, might I ask what your name is?"

"Jacqueline Delattre," I told him, proud of myself that my voice didn't wavier. I had to hold on to my fake identity long enough to get away from him and leg it out of here. The way his hand tightened around my waist, keeping me in place told me he wasn't letting me run off any time soon.

"Hmm, I don't recall you getting plastic surgery. I will say, it was a good ruse, but unfortunately for you not everyone was fooled by your lies. I have recently had the pleasure of meeting with Ms. Delattre. You are not her. Would you like to try again?" The man asked me as we stopped dancing and stood in the middle of the dance floors, the rest of the couples dancing paying us no mind as they danced around us.

"No one you should concern yourself with," I spat at him, shaking his hands off and hurrying off. I made it past the guards in front of the ballroom, finding my way out before a hand suddenly latched around my wrist and I was dragged into a study like room. I whirled around and faced the man as he guarded the door. I lunged at him, hoping to slip past him, but he blocked me, a smirk on his face.

"Ah, ah, not so fast. There, isn't this lovely?" The man asked me as I stood there, my chest heaving in anger. Why couldn't he just let me leave? "I want to know how a drug addict managed to bypass all security measures put in place for this evening and lie their way into a government party,' The man told me and I blinked in surprise, it was like he had read my mind.

"I'm clever," I snapped at him as I started pacing like a caged animal. "And your security measures are crap," I told him bluntly, my French accent slipping into a mixture of my Irish and British. I was right in thinking he wasn't a normal government official. More power than he let on. He wasn't here to mingle, he was here to make sure the evening went down without any trouble. He was head of security for the night.

"Ah, Irish. So do you still want to be difficult or would you like to tell me how and why you got in?" The man asked me and I stopped pacing to stare him down. I had one idea for how to distract him. I had to distract him after all.

"Why I got in was because one of your government officials killed his wife because she was having an affair with another man in government. As for the how, your security measures need a lot of work. It was too easy to climb over the gates and cross the lawn. As I said, I'm clever. I know for instance that you are in your forties. You hold more power in government than you actually let on. You've had a stressful day, probably because you had to make sure this party went down without a hitch, more than likely it was also because your younger brother was making your life difficult. You don't get on well, wasn't that far of a stretch," I told him, keeping a straight face as I shared my readings with him. His eyes narrowed as he stared back at me passively.

"You're in your late twenties. You work in some sort of position for the police, but you don't work for them. You're a drug addict if your pale face and recent loss of weight are any indication. It's apparent, but no one else has realized it yet. You're Irish, but speak with a British accent which suggest you have lived here longer than two years, my guess is three. You are above average intelligence or at least you would have to be to sneak into Buckingham Palace. The dress you are wearing is the best you can afford since most of your income goes to paying your drug dealer. Have I missed anything?" The man asked me as my eyes widened in shock. I had never met anyone who could do that like I could. My anger turned to curiosity as I viewed the posh man before me.

"You can read me like I can you?" I asked him in surprise and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Read?" He asked me in confusion and I nodded at him before I shook my head in utter shock. I thought it was only me who could see things like that. I thought I was different. Grandfather always said it was a gift I shouldn't waste. I thought I was the only freak, but this man could do it too. Maybe it wasn't as different as I thought. Maybe it was actually normal.

"Read, yes. Looking at a person and knowing all about them," I explained to him in case he was like me and didn't understand it at first. I had never known exactly what ti was that I could do.

"Deductions you mean?" The man asked me and I frowned at that word.

"Deductions?" I asked him testing the word. "I like that, it sounds better that way," I told him and he looked at me oddly for a long moment before we fell back into our conversation prior to sharing our deductions.

"I am at a loss as to if I should hand you over to security or escort you out myself," He mused before seemingly making a decision. He walked forward and grabbed me by my upper arm, pulling me back through the door. I was not expecting him to escort me out of the palace himself and put me in the back of a black car where a woman was sitting inside, furiously typing on her mobile. He instructed the woman to take me back to wherever it was that I lived and to make sure that I stay there for the remainder of the night. He assured me that this was not the last time I would be hearing from him and that he would be watching me closely. I sat back in the car with the girl that introduced herself as Thalia and drove back to my flat. He kept his promise. That was not the last time that we met.

Two Weeks Later…

Two weeks later found me still a bit uneasy after the events of the government party. I was still waiting for the man to change his mind and for men in suits to come and cart me off where I would never be heard from again. My drug habit got worse in those two weeks and I was high a good part of the time. The government official case had wrapped up and I gave all my evidence to Lestrade without telling him exactly how I had gotten it. I was working a new case now, a serial child killer case and it had left a bad taste in my mouth. I was walking back to my flat from the corner store when a payphone beside me started ringing. I ignored it and just kept walking but a second payphone down the street started ringing just as I passed it. Never one to ignore a coincidence, I walked into the phone box and answered the phone.

"Hello?" I asked speaking down the phone.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" A man's voice asked me and I instantly knew who it was.

"Who's this? Who's speaking?" I asked frowning even thought I knew the answer already. It was the man who found me out at the party.

"Do you see the camera, Ms. MacKenna?" The man asked me and I quickly looked through the windows of the phone box and located the CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building. I was panicking. How had he found out my name?

"Yeah, I see it," I told him, proud that my voice stayed steady. "Watch," He told me and I watched as the camera which was pointing directly at the phone box swivelled away. "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" He asked me and I looked across to the second camera which was also pointed towards the phone box. I made a sound of agreement and the camera immediately swivelled away like the first had. "And finally, at the top of the building on your right," The man told me and I stared up into the third camera which was also watching me before it swivelled away. "How are you doing this?" I asked the man as I looked up at all of the cameras. "Get into the car, Ms. MacKenna," The man told me as a black car pulled up at the curb side near the phone. The male driver got out and opened the rear door. "I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you," The man told me and I shook my head at that.

"No, it isn't. I don't have to get in the car," I told him and I heard him chuckle on the other side of the phone.

"And yet I know your name and where you live. Get in the car Ms. MacKenna. Do make things easier on yourself," The man told me and I growled in irritation as I clenched my fists, my shopping on the floor and long forgotten.

"Fine, but I'm not doing this because you want me too," I snapped at him before I hung up the phone before he could. There wasn't much else I could do but get in the car and find out what the posh asshat wanted with me. I stalked out of the phone box and over to the car, sliding into the back seat where the girl Thalia was sitting on her phone once again like the first time we had met. "You know if you go at your phone like that, you're going to hurt your eyes," I commented as the car took off. "Any point asking where I'm going?" I asked her and still she remained silent, completely invested in her phone. "I could text you the question if you prefer," I said sarcastically which is when she finally decided to look up.

"Hello," She said smiling brightly at me.

"Oh look, you're alive. I was starting to wonder if this was an episode of Doctor Who and you were actually dead as you slaved away on the computer or in your case your mobile for the Editor in Chief," I told her as I took a look out of the window. We were driving further away from the centre of the city. Thalia laughed at that and I couldn't help the slight grin that graced my face. "So any point asking where I am going?" I tried again now that I had her attention.

"None at all," She told me as she went back to texting on her phone. "Alexandria," She added like an afterthought. I sighed and crossed my arms sitting back in my seat and waiting for this car ride to end. A short while later the car pulled up into an almost-empty warehouse. The man in another immaculate suit was standing in the centre of the area, leaning nonchalantly a cane as he watched the car stop. As soon as the car stopped I opened the door and got out myself. In front of the man was a straight-backed armless chair facing him. He gestured to it with the point of his umbrella as I walked towards him, the sound of my heels connecting with the concrete echoing through the empty warehouse.

"Have a seat, Alexandria," He told me and I smirked at him as I took the chair and turned it around before sitting on it improperly. If I wasn't wearing jeans I wouldn't be sitting like this but it did make me seem a little more imposing.

"You know, I've got a thing called a phone," I told him as I looked around the warehouse. "I mean, very clever and all that with the cameras and the black car, but you could just phone me on my phone like a normal person. Though I would have hated to have missed this," I told him as I gestured around to the dimly lit and grungy warehouse. "I love the aesthetics in here, the Feng Shui. I can see you really went all out for me."

"Charming, as always. But down to business. You don't seem very afraid," The man remarked casually and I snorted at him and rolled his eyes. Was I supposed to be afraid of him? He had a bloody cane for God's sakes. I didn't know whether to laugh at the fact that he didn't seem too imposing or feel sorry for him.

"You don't seem very frightening," I told him with a smirk and he chuckled at me.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the Irish. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He asked me as he looked at me sternly. I laughed at that, the sound echoing through the warehouse.

"Says the man whose security I got past," I told him and he frowned at that. "You know, there are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater. But sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life. That is the sort of bravery I have now," I told the man, my Irish temper flaring.

"'Trust issues,' it says here," The man said, not at all perturbed by my little outburst as he took a small notebook out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"Ah so you have been watching me. Well done you. Give the man a medal," I said sarcastically and I watched as he ground his teeth together. I knew I was pissing him off which was half the fun of it.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," He pointed out and I laughed at that, wiping a fake tear from my eye.

"Ah, you crack me up. If that's all you've learnt about me after two weeks, you're not as good as I thought. Are we done here now? Not that I haven't loved this, but I have a serial killer to catch," I told the man and he raised his head in looked into my eyes doing that deduction thing to me again. It still slightly unnerved me that I couldn't exactly read him. I could still see surface things, another row with his brother, but beyond that I couldn't deduce anything else. I had taken to calling my readings deductions. The first time I had called them this around Lestrade I had gotten a strange look from him.

"You tell me," The man told me and I looked at him for a long moment before cocking my head to the side.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours. Only seems fair that we are on even ground," I told him and he smirked at me. "Well, forgive me if I would like to stay on uneven ground," The man told me and I gritted my teeth together, my hand clenching in anger. "It's time to choose a side, Ms. MacKenna," He told me before he walked away from me towards the back of the warehouse. I watched the departing man until he left me alone with my anger. I sat fixed in my seat for a few seconds before I got up. The car door opened behind me and Thalia got out and walked a few paces towards me her attention still riveted to the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands.

"I'm to take you home," She told me as I half-turned towards her. I followed her into the car and got into the back, letting her drive me home. That was the second time I had met the mysterious man and it was certainly not the last time we would meet.

Over the course of the next few months I was kidnapped on a number of occasions. I had done some research of my own into the man, using some of my hacking skills which resulted in a message coming through across my laptop screen to be a good girl and stop trying to hack the government. The only thing I had found out about him was his name, but that was more than enough for me. Mycroft Holmes, even his name sounded posh and arrogant. The next time we met, he kidnapped me and brought me to a café where he scolded me for my hacking and told me that I would be under surveillance. Apparently my surveillance status was Grade Three Active, whatever that meant. After that, I worked more case and was kidnapped more often. Mycroft had me join him on some cases he was working for the government. He said it was his form of punishment for me since he couldn't just put me in prison for my illegal activities since, "a mind was not a thing to waste." Before I knew it six months had passed since I had first met him. In that time, he had taught me how to better make deductions and how to speak French. He had tried to help me kick my drug habit, but I fell of the wagon more than once. Each time he just sighed and helped me get back up on the horse. I wasn't sure exactly what our relationship was it. It was almost like teacher and student but then also like prison warden and convict. I found out that I was considered a security risk to the crown and he was trying to judge if I should be neutralized or not.

Apparently I convinced him that I wasn't a threat to the safety of the Commonwealth. Soon I was working another serial killer case. It had been going well until I put my reliance in Anderson and Donovan. All the time I was being tortured by the sick bastard I kept thinking about Mycroft. I knew that he would realize something was wrong when his tails on me couldn't find me. I just had to hold out hope that he would be able to find me in time. Those three days were spent in pain and brief moments of lucidity. When I was given the drug my body was finally screaming for, I was finally able to relax until I felt as if my veins were burning me from the inside out. I couldn't breathe and I started hallucinating. Through the tremors and convulsions, I fought to stay awake. I didn't know if I was dreaming or not when the lights finally reached me and all of the loud voices that sounded muffled. I vaguely remembered seeing Mycroft's face and hearing Lestrade before I was uncuffed and helped to my feet. Through the haze I saw Anderson's face and with what little strength left I punched him with as much force as I had, hearing a satisfying crack as I broke his nose. It was after that that I finally passed out. All I remembered was someone catching me which I later figured out was Mycroft Holmes.

I woke up in the hospital three days later where I was informed I was lucky to be alive. I had almost overdosed. The serial killer had been caught and Mycroft hadn't left my side through all of it. It was on that day that I corrected him and told him to call me Lexi instead of Alexandria. It was also on that day that I started calling him Croft. I stopped working case after that. My drug habit was found out and Mycroft officially checked me into rehab. I fought him at first and I said some things I didn't mean as the bitterness and pain of the past filled me. He stuck with me through all of it thought and when I was finally free of the drugs, I realized that he was one of the good guys. He bought me a beautiful viola as a reminder that some habits didn't have to be ugly. Every time I felt like I would go back to the drugs, I would play and after a while I could play just for the fun of it again instead of just to keep myself from falling back into old habits. Mycroft was the third person I had met that actually seemed to care about what happened to me. Four years past, I picked up writing and worked odd jobs for Mycroft. I moved out of my flat that was a reminder of my life before with the drugs. Mycroft taught me Italian, I learnt more languages. He taught me everything he knew about making deductions and after a while, I started seeing him as a brother and as a friend. I spoke with his mother and found out more about his brother thought I had never met him and Mycroft refused to introduce us or even tell me his name. I started trusting Mycroft Holmes more than anyone else. We were alike as we were then, one day after all of that I started looking for a new flat. Destiny decided to take me by the hand and I finally met Sherlock Holmes and the army doctor John Watson and then, I became Lexi MacKenna, consulting detective.


	14. All's Quiet On The Sherlock Front

**"Travelin' On"**

**You could never be a face in the crowd**  
**So you're travelin' on, travelin' on out**  
**Well you know I'd never say it out loud**  
**But I'll be travelin' on, travelin' with you**

**Hey I'm too weak it's too much to fight off**  
**The past so strong**  
**But now I don't think too much of the time**  
**I'll just try to keep up**

**Ooh ooh...**  
**I can't believe what's happening now**  
**Ooh ooh...**  
**I can't believe what's happening now**

**If you notice that I'm falling behind**  
**I'm taking my time taking it all in**  
**So call me when you get where you're going**  
**I'll keep travelin' on, travelin' to you**

**Hey don't be too hard on yourself**  
**I'll be okay**  
**Cause we won't leave this place any worse**  
**Than when we came**

**Ooh ooh...**  
**I can't believe what's happening now**  
**Ooh ooh...**  
**I can't believe what's happening now**  
**Ooh ooh...**  
**I love the way it's happening now**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve – All's Quiet On The Sherlock Front**

**"You wish to put me in the dark. I tell you that I will never be put in the dark. You wish to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me." **  
**―Arthur Conan Doyle,_The Final Problem and Other Stories _**

By the time I had finished playing my composition, Sherlock decided to come out of his room. He was dressed in a grey shirt, blue pyjama bottoms, and a dark blue robe. He sunk into his chair and adopted his prayer pose, his bare feet resting against the floor. I had a feeling that he would not be joining the land of the living anytime soon. I put my viola away in its case before I sat down by Sherlock's feet, adopting my meditative pose. There was something off about this case and I wasn't sure what. The husband had something to do with Ms. Dampier's murder, of that I was sure, but I didn't know how he was involved. However, he was not the one who had actually committed the murder. That had been done by someone much larger and stronger than her husband. Then there was the fact that she didn't even share his last name. There could be multiple reasons for why she didn't but in a marriage portrayed to be as happy as theirs was, it sent up a little red flag right in my direction. Something was off about that, it could be nothing or it could be something. I never disregarded a piece of evidence until it had an explanation. Currently, it didn't.

Mr. Polk was definitely a sub, not a dom. He was not connected in the murder in anyway, but that didn't mean that he wasn't slightly creepy. I was sure that the stalker charge had not simply been a misunderstanding, but that didn't mean he committed murder. Interviewing everyone on the list would end up being time consuming and most likely would not result in anything productive. I needed to look at this case at a completely different angle. The killer took a trophy. Now, trophy meant he might have killed before. That or this could be the killer's first murder which I highly doubted. Taking trophies was indicative that the killer had killed more than once so it was likely that we could find other victims of Ms. Dampier's murderer that would match the same MO. I got up from my spot and breezed out of the room, noting that John had settled down in his chair and was reading the paper. I patted his arm as I passed him and he looked up at me, smiling a bit before I left him and entered my bedroom.

I started pulling my case boxes onto my bed to look through them. I remembered that I had two boxes filled with some old cold case files that Gregson had sent me a while back to look through. I hadn't come up with anything, but it had given me something to do in my time away from consulting, not that I would ever admit that I had looked through them. I found the two boxes I was looking for and lugged the rest of them back into an organized stack before I started dragging the boxes I needed out into the living room, sliding them over the floorboards as they were too heavy for me to carry. John looked up from his paper as I dragged the boxes in front of the fire place and opened them. I started digging through the boxes, pulling out all of the files to review. It was possible that an unsolved case might be connected to our killer and that could give us a led as to other suspects in the cases. If the killer had other victims, I might be able to pinpoint any connections between all of the victims and any suspects in the previous cases. Somewhere in all of this there had to be a connection. I just had to find the common connection and then I would have our killer. There was a good chance I had the file I needed since Gregson had given me all of the cold case files he had from the last five years. These two boxes covered four years and I had another box our two somewhere with the rest of them. If I had to I could get them from Mycroft. I unloaded all of my case files and looked up at Sherlock who was watching me with curiosity. I picked up a stack of my case files and gave them to Sherlock.

"Look through these for any that seem to fit the same MO as our killer," I told him as I ungraciously dumped the case files in his lap. "And you can look through these," I told John as I dumped an equally large stack in his lap. I took an entire stack for myself, ready to get to work.

"How is this going to help?" John asked me as he opened his first file and stared down at it with a frown. It would be interesting to see just how much he would like me after I finished with him. I was going to put him to work if he was just sitting there doing nothing. The same went for Sherlock.

"Well, it's possible that our killer has killed before. Serial killers are the ones that normally take trophies. Helps them to differentiate between victims. It occurred to me that if Amy Dampire was not our killer's first victim, there might be other cases in common. Gregson sent me these case files to take a look at for him. We're looking for any other victims that match the MO our killer. If we can find other victims, we may be able to narrow our search down to find a suspect," I explained to John as I opened my first case file. Sherlock was already breezing through his first file. This was going to take a while to go through.

"I thought you said you weren't taking cases before. Why would he send you cold case files?" John asked me as he moved the stack of files I had given him onto his side table. I sighed and got up, crossing over to my board before turning back to him.

"He was trying to get me interested again. After my…accident, I didn't want to go back to work," I told John. I knew this discussion had to take place. It was sort of easier to talk about now that I had told Sherlock. Despite the fact that he already knew what I was going to tell John, he still gave me his full attention.

"Our course, though you were wasting your talents as a writer," Sherlock remarked with a quirk of his lips as he flicked his eyes up away from his file and looked at me.

"Hmm Mycroft told me the same thing in not so many words," I told him with an amused smile before looking back at John. "You've got questions John, about me in particular. Things people have said, probably Donovan, right? I've explained most of it to Sherlock already so, ask me," I offered him. He sat back in his chair looking at me for a long moment.

"Your accident…what exactly happened, made you want to leave?" John asked me first, he was hesitant as if he wasn't sure exactly how to word it. I crossed back over to Sherlock and took a seat at his feet facing John. I steepled my hands under my chin, my fingers crossed and making a shushing expression.

"Like I told Sherlock, that question has to start with an explanation about my addiction," I remarked thoughtfully. He stared back at me for a long moment as if he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

"And your addiction then?" He prompted me. I smiled back at him before popping up off of the floor.

"Bit of a long story and I gave Sherlock the shortened version. Tea?" I asked the both of them as I made for the kitchen. Sherlock hummed out an agreement while John looked at me with a sort of surprised expression.

"Yeah sure," He told me after a second before I flashed him a smile and swept into the kitchen. I pulled out three mugs and set the kettle on the stove as I thought about how exactly I was going to tell him things. I hadn't told Sherlock the entire story, but I just felt that it was time to tell someone. I was moving on, getting back into the work. I wasn't ready to tell them the entire story yet, but I could tell them enough for now. As soon as the kettle was done I started making the tea. John took his with just milk, no sugar and Sherlock two sugars and no milk. I was a combination of both. I brought the mugs into the living room and passed the boys their tea before taking my seat again, this time resting up against Sherlock's knees. I blew on my tea and took a deep breath before fixing my eyes on John. "Alright, so my addiction," I began before taking a sip of my tea.

"You don't have to tell me you know…if you don't want to," John said quickly. I studied him and saw that while he did want to know what everyone was talking about, he really didn't want to pry. I shook my head and flashed him a brilliant smile.

"I want to tell you John," I told him before taking a deep breath and starting. "So well, my family life wasn't the best. I'm an only child. My father didn't want children, but my mother did. To make a long story short, my mother died giving birth to me," I explained emotionlessly. I never knew my mother, I couldn't truly miss someone I had never met. Of course I did regret never getting to know her, but grief wasn't really something I could feel over it.

"Oh God, Lexi, I'm sorry," John told me and I snapped my eyes up to him. I registered that Sherlock had put his file down and was sitting in his prayer pose as he watched me.

"No, no. I don't remember her of course. Anyway, my father…well he never could get over that his only child was a daughter. I had a lonely childhood to put it lightly. I spent a lot of time alone, especially after I started school," I said with a bitter laugh as I looked back at Sherlock. "No one quiet liked to be friends with me," I told him seeing him nod slightly in understanding. I knew that he had suffered the same as I did in school. I was always the clever child. As soon as I made that clear I was alienated from the rest of the children. "I used to go to this park and observe people. I started deducing them. It was my escape. When I turned twelve I went to Uni in Edinburgh. I got out when I was nineteen with a PHD in Organic Chemistry, Sociology, Criminology, and Medicine," I continued before John interrupted me with a yelp of surprise.

"You have four Doctorates?" He asked looking completely floored. I looked at him with a grin on my face and took a sip of my tea as he stared back at me in utter bewilderment. "You are a doctor, a proper doctor?" He continued shaking his head in amazement.

"Mmm," I hummed in agreement before turning to look at Sherlock. We looked at each other for a long moment before we both started laughing. His deep chuckle mixed with my high bell like laugh. John made a sound of disbelief before he joined us in our laughter. "I was bored," I said as I quieted.

"You were bored?" John laughed incredulously as I put my tea cup on the floor and got up, moving around Sherlock's chair to the window. I looked back at John and shrugged before looking back out the window.

"Oh you know. Anyway, I worked some odd jobs when I got out of Uni. I was a chemist, a pathologist…yeah, like I said odd jobs," I said after seeing the look John was giving me. "I left Ireland and moved to London when I was twenty four. Met Lestrade about a month later and I started working cases as a consultant for the police. It didn't take me long to realize that they were all incompetent," I continued before Sherlock interrupted me.

"How did you come to know Detective Inspector Gregson?" He asked me and I crossed over to his chair with a laugh and sat on the arm of his chair. He looked up at me, not looking annoyed but rather thoughtful. He didn't flinch away from me, but rather sat the same way he was before. Mycroft really did oppose human contact, but the same couldn't actually be said for Sherlock. I had a feeling that he actually craved contact, but shied away from it. He pushed people away from him with the way he acted, but he actually craved attention. I wasn't going to push him, but I wasn't going to leave him completely alone either. No one should ever be alone.

"Gregson? We met on a case. Lestrade's team was working with Gregson's. I sought Gregson out after we wrapped up the case. He already saw how I worked, he let me in on his next case. After that I was always invited in. I worked with Lestrade primarily but when he didn't have a case for me, Gregson would steal me away with the promise of an interesting case. Like this one, missing person's case turns into a murder case. Back on the subject though, where was I?" I asked John as I looked up at him, leaning in slightly towards Sherlock so our shoulders were almost touching. I reached up and pulled my hair out of its bun, letting my hair cascade down around me, A few strands fell on Sherlock's shoulder and he stared at them for a long moment before picking up one of the strands and studying it closely. I smiled before pushing my hair behind my ears, effectively stealing my hair back from him.

"Your addiction," John offered and I snapped my fingers, pointing at him with a grin.

"Yes, perfect, thank you John. Anyway, yes well I got introduced to cocaine. Don't remember quiet how, but I started using. It helped me think, alcohol slows down the brain, but the cocaine sped me up. When I stared working for Lestrade, I thought it helped me solve cases. I hid it from him, easy enough to do, he's not that observant, but I know Gregson noticed that something was going on," I said before John was the one to interrupt me. I sighed heavily knowing that this was going to take far longer to explain if they kept interrupting me.

"And when did you meet Sherlock's brother in all this?" John asked me as he leaned his head against one of his arms. I rolled my eyes and got up, sitting back down at Sherlock's feet, leaning up against his legs casually as if I had done it a thousand times. It was close enough to him, without being too close. Baby steps.

"I was on a case actually when we met. I might have snuck into a very important government party. Government official having an affair, big scandal. You would be surprised what you can get people to believe when you need to blend in. Mycroft of course saw right through me. He kicked me out of course, surprisingly didn't call the police or even the secret service. He just told me that he would be watching me. Kept his promise too. Kidnapped me two days later, brought me to that warehouse. We had a lovely chat which basically me sassing him and him sassing me right back," I told John before leaning back to look up at Sherlock with a grin. "I think I impressed him or at the very least annoyed him," I told him before looking back at John. "He kept an eye on me after that. Went on like that for a few months and then he started kidnapping me on a regular basis. I got to know him, of course I wasn't happy about any of it. That was until my accident," I said taking a deep breath and letting it out. Now came the difficult part of trying to explain just what happened.

"You really don't have to if it's too much," John told me sincerely. It was sweet that he was thinking about me, how I might not want to tell him any of this. I had already told him a lot though. Sure, I left out a lot about my childhood, but I really didn't feel the need to hide a lot of what I had done as an adult.

"It's not," I assured him before leaning my head against Sherlock's knee and closing my eyes before continuing. "I was working a serial killer case for Lestrade. There had been four victims already when he called me in. I got close, closer than anyone. I figured it out in the end, who it was. Anderson and Donovan weren't fond of me already, but part of me stupidly believed that I could trust them when it was important at least. I told them where I was going, they were supposed to alert Lestrade so he could bring back up while I went to where I knew the killer was hiding out and distracted him until the police arrived. I got there and engaged the killer, but…," I said before trailing off.

"…but the help never came," John finished for me with a heavy sigh as he finally put the pieces together. "They never told him where you went did they?" He asked me as he ran a hand down his face.

"No, help never arrived and the killer knew that they weren't coming. I was over powered on my own and I was taken to another part of London. I was held prisoner for three days in a basement. After I didn't turn up the next day to the Yard, Lestrade started asking questions. That was when Anderson and Donovan finally decided to say something. They claimed that they thought I was mad, leading them on a wild goose chase. Of course, when they got to the warehouse I had directed them to, the killer had long since run off with me in his trunk. Lestrade knew I worked with Gregson and got him involved. Mycroft got involved too. His tails on me lost me for more than an hour. He started looking for me. When I didn't answer my phone, he knew something had happened. He went to Lestrade and Gregson. Lestrade didn't want his help, but Gregson was willing to corporate with him."

"And that's why you kept getting all those texts yesterday. They were from Mycroft and you didn't answer him so…," John interrupted and I nodded back with a laugh.

"Yes, he started panicking. Mycroft, as I am sure he told you in some ways, worries about me constantly. Sherlock too, at least that is what I gather. Anyway, I was well, I was tortured while I was held prisoner," I said, wincing when I heard John gasp in surprise. "Mycroft got a tip off from someone about having seen me and within an hour, Gregson, Sargent Bell and Lestrade along with Mycroft's men rescued me. As they got me outside Anderson and Donovan showed up. As injured as I was I still managed to break Anderson's nose. Course I suffered from fractured knuckles for that, but it was worth it. I recovered, but I never went back after that case. I couldn't, not after what had happened," I finished as I hugged my knees up to my chest and rested my head against them as I stared up at John.

"And why weren't Anderson and Donovan fired? Surely Lestrade would have done something, not let them just get away with that?" John asked me incredulously.

"Ha here's the kicker. Lestrade's boss got involved. Lestrade got into a lot of hot water when he found out that Lestrade had been letting a civilian help on cases, see all of the case files. In his eyes, Anderson and Donovan were right for not having listened to me. Lestrade wanted to fire them or at least suspend them, but he had no say in the matter anymore. I was basically told that it was my own fault for engaging with someone who I believed was a serial killer even if it was because of me that they ended up catching him. The only reason Lestrade was able to keep his job was because I left and I made Mycroft pull some strings to make sure he couldn't be fired. I wasn't about to ruin Lestrade's career because of me. I assume that he let Sherlock in on cases when he left because of Mycroft, that might have been part of the deal they made," I told John and Sherlock furrowed his brow at the fact that his brother might have been responsible for why he was allowed in on case. "Not that I think Mycroft would care that much. He generally doesn't do things for other people unless it would do something for him. In my case I was more willing to listen to him in the future because he had done a favour for me," I added and Sherlock's expression lightened. I was sure that Mycroft had one something to get Sherlock into the Yard after all of that, but I couldn't be sure that he was the one to twist Lestrade's arm. It could have been all Lestrade. I knew he was pissed since my track record spoke for itself and their conviction rates had skyrocketed as soon as I started helping them.

"But you missed it, the blood pumping in your veins. Lexi MacKenna against the world. When Lestrade asked for your help, your initial reaction was to tell him no, but then you changed your mind. At first it was because you wanted to show off. You were intrigued by me naturally, the only person you had ever met that could do what you did was Mycroft. No one would choose Mycroft. You then met me. Mike didn't want to introduce us, I could tell he was nervous, though also smug. You stayed quite when we first met, let John do all the talking because you were observing. We both made our deductions. You decided to come see the flat. Again, you initially hesitated, but then you decided to come anyway because you were curious. After your initial hesitation at Lestrade's request you agreed to come. You didn't want to have me show you up which shows you are proud of what you do and also competitive. In the car, you made it clear you weren't going to let me do all the talking. You shared your deductions about John, something you don't normally do. You're always shunned when you share your deductions so you keep them to yourself. At the crime scene, you're whole demeanour changed. Normally you engage in theatrics or over the top displays, but you became professional. You weren't afraid to share your deductions, in fact you wanted to because you wanted to prove that you were as smart as I was. I have to give you some credit, you figured out it was a cabbie before I did. You texted my brother, two words, I didn't see what, but you knew that we weren't going to get out of their on our own. You stalled by engaging the cab driver even though I clearly made it known that I should do all the talking. You decided to move in right after that, just after you decided to go back to solving cases. You were intrigued, remembered what it was like, couldn't resist to get back into the work," Sherlock said, sharing some of the deductions he had made about me with the two of us. I laughed and grinned up at him from my position, sitting at his feet. He was right of course.

"Vatican Cameos, two words. After my accident Mycroft and I came up with a duress code that I was to send him if I was ever in danger. Your right, I wanted to show off at first, but then I actually started working with you which is why I am having you help me on this case. That is, of course, if you want to. Beats sitting around the flat doing nothing," I remarked as picked up my first case file and opened it. The only answer Sherlock gave me was by picking up the case file he put down and opening it, starting to read through it. "John, I'd like your help too. I wasn't lying when I said you were helping me prove a point. Beyond that I would love to have your medical opinion on cases," I told the army doctor truthfully, flicking my eyes over at John who was still staring between Sherlock and I in shock over how our previous conversation had just ended. I didn't feel the need to fill John in on the parts where I had almost died because of an overdose. That was something Sherlock could understand, he had almost overdosed at one point too, but that was of his own causing. Still, he could understand that part that John wouldn't be able to. John nodded for a second before shaking his head and taking a sip of his cooling tea.

"You're a doctor too. Why would you want my medical opinion?" He asked me incredulously before something I said started to register with him. "Hang on, you knew there was a possibly both you and Sherlock could die and you still went with the cabbie? You knew the gun was a fake, you didn't have to play his game, take the pills," He said harshly as he looked between the both of us, settling his gaze on Sherlock.

"Of course we knew the gun was fake, it was obvious, even Anderson could have realized it," Sherlock quipped before falling into silence again effectively ignoring John's question.

"I want your opinion because I don't have any practical knowledge, but you do John. You were a doctor, an army doctor. And yes, I knew. As Sherlock pointed out, I did in fact know that the gun was fake as well. As for why we played the game…," I said trailing off as I looked over at Sherlock. We locked eyes and in that moment we made a vow to each other to keep what we had learnt a secret, even from John. "That really isn't important. I don't have an answer for you that you would like," I told him and he nodded in understanding, not that he wouldn't like the answer but that he knew I wasn't going to give him one, before picking up one of his own files.

The three of us shared a look for a long moment before we got to work, looking for other victims. Hours passed and the sun set outside of the window as the afternoon turned to night. John tried to suggest getting something for dinner, but Sherlock and I waved him off. John instead made something for himself in the kitchen, loudly commenting on the fact that it wasn't healthy not to eat. I was working on a case. I wouldn't go as far as to say that digestion slowed me down, but when I was working I really didn't eat. I had already eaten twice in one day which was a record for me of late. John ran out after he ate to go pick up some things from home since he would be spending another night in the flat. He came back an hour later having changed clothes and showered before returning with a bag of clothes and toiletries. Maybe I could get Mycroft to give him a hand moving his stuff into Baker Street. Somehow, I didn't think that John would like that suggestion nor would Sherlock like it because that might mean that Mycroft would have to pay us another visit. Early evening turned to close to midnight as the three of us still sat looking through all of my case files. One box worth of files lead to no leads and sometime after hour four at having been at it we moved on to box number two. It was just after it turned one in the morning when I finally found what I had been looking for.

"Ha got one! Eileen Renfro," I cried in triumph as I stood up and stood by Sherlock's chair as he put the file down that he had been working through. I perched on the arm of his chair as John got up to look over my shoulder. "Savagely beaten and strangled by an intruder in her home in Greenwich two years ago. The killer took a jewellery box on his way out, but he left behind a size eleven foot print," I continued as I showed John and Sherlock a picture of the victims throat where you could see the bruising markings from the killers hands. "Get this, the most striking fact are the physical similarities between her and Amy. Both were curvaceous with long red hair."

"You think the killer has a type?" John asked me over my shoulder as Sherlock flicked through the case file quickly. Eileen's case had gone cold, except there was one difference in her case and Amy's.

"Yes, but there was one difference in the two attacks, Eileen Renfro survived her attack," I told John with a grin. This was perfect, Eileen could provide us with a link we needed to find our killer. Of course I had solved a murder on a lot less before, but this was like being given a map with an x marks the spot on it. A witness, a victim, always knew the most about the case.

"So, so this girl might know something? About the killer?" John asked me and I grinned as I got up and patted him on the arm.

"Very good John yes," I told him as I looked over at Sherlock. "I suggest we go speak with Ms. Renfro tomorrow morning, see what she might know," I told Sherlock as he handed me back over the case file.

"Agreed," He answered me simply before getting up from his chair and leaving his case files behind. He crossed over to the window and started playing the violin. After the first few notes I realized he was playing The Bee or L'Abeille by Schumann. I smiled ruefully at his choice, it was one of my favourite pieces.

"Well then, I'm off to bed," John said as he stood up straight and crossed over to his chair, handing me back my case files. I dumped them unceremoniously back into their respective box before doing the same with Sherlock's pile and my own. "Are you going to get some sleep?" John asked me as I sat down on the floor and adopted my mediating pose.

"Hmm no, no I think I'll stay up a bit longer," I remarked nonchalantly as I took a few deep breaths to calm my mind. I needed sleep, but I knew that was a lost cause. With the way my mind was racing right now, sleep would never come to me.

"Alright," John said slowly and I peeked up at him to see a small disbelieving smile on his face. "Night then I guess," He told me and I hummed in agreement before closing my eyes. I heard his footsteps as he made his way up to his room. He had yet to move his stuff in, but he was still staying over. I heard him a few minutes later in the bathroom, but I blocked him out as I thought over the case. In my mind I picture a room filled with filing cabinets. There were maps all over the walls, a globe, and a large table covered in papers and odds in ends. My "filing" system was a good way to remember everything I read, saw, or deduced. There were other rooms filed with other information, but the main room was the filing room. It was called the method of loci and dated back to the Romans and the Greeks. Mycroft had taught it to me and helped form my memory palace as it was called. In theory, one only had to find the right file, book, or anyway they stored the information in order to remember something stored away in their brain.

We were right on track with this case. With any luck, Eileen Renfro might be able to give us the information we needed to find the killer. By this time tomorrow, the case will be solved and I would be enjoying the post case feelings of satisfaction. I came out of my thoughts when I noticed that Sherlock had stopped playing. I opened my eyes slowly to be met with Sherlock's face inches from my own. I shrieked in surprise, smacking him in the arm for scaring me. He was sitting on his chair, his hands in the prayer pose as he studied me. I glared at him as I got to my feet. He stood up beside me still watching me closely.

"Seriously there is such a thing as personal space Sherlock," I snapped as I shook my head in exasperation and went to get my viola. Maybe if I played for a bit it would relax me enough so I could get to sleep.

"You seem to have no problem invading other's personal space," Sherlock remarked as he went and plopped himself down on the couch, putting an arm over his face as he laid there. I rolled my eyes in his direction. He had a point there, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of telling him he was right.

"Whatever Lock," I told him as I stood in front of the window and raised my viola to my shoulder and started playing Brahms' lullaby. It was my favourite piece to play when I needed to relax and it was normally what I played when I really couldn't sleep.

Sherlock huffed from his spot on the couch, but made no other comment. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music and for a while, the only sound that could be heard in our flat were the notes of the song. When I finished playing, I smiled when I heard he soft snores coming from the direction of the couch. I turned around to find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, one arm hanging limply over the edge, the other still over his eyes, as he snored. I leaned my viola up against Sherlock's chair and crossed over to John's chair, pulling the blanket off of the back of it and draping it over Sherlock's lanky frame. He muttered something in his sleep as he grabbed the blanket and pulled it around him tighter as he rolled over onto his side and curled up in the fatal position. I smiled down at the overgrown child before yawning myself.

"Good night Sherlock Holmes," I whispered from the opening of the hallway before I slipped into the hall. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened for a second before the sound of John's snores reached my ears. I laughed quietly to myself before I retired to my own room for some much needed sleep. I walked over to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I smiled as I pulled out my sweatpants and a tank top. Anthea was a saint for having moved in all my stuff and unpacked it all in a matter of hours. It was like I had always lived at Baker Street now. I pulled on my pyjamas and threw my clothes into my hamper before sliding under my sheets. I pulled my familiar quilt up to my chin. I looked up at my nightstand and laughed when I noticed that I had a brand new alarm clock sitting facing the bed. I snuggled down into my pillow and let sleep over take me. For many hours, not a sound could be heard from the three residents of 221B except for the soft sound of snoring. When the sun finally rose, the three residents woke one by one.

I woke up to the sound of knocking on my bedroom door before the door opened. "Lexi, Sherlock says you better be ready to go in ten minutes or he's leaving you behind," John said before he yelped in surprise when a pillow hit him square in the face with expert precision. I peeled opened one eye and stared at John with as much displeasure that I could manage after just waking up from some of the best sleep I had had in a while.

"Ah you're awake," Sherlock said as he brushed past the disgruntled and still shocked John. He crossed over to my dresser and started rifling through the drawers, throwing a sweater, a pair of jeans, and my underclothes at me. I slowly raised myself to sitting, John shot me a very worried look, as I turned and fixed Sherlock with my murderous glare. He still had his back to me and seemed to have not noticed my expression just yet. He turned around, flicking a pair of socks in my direction before he took in my expression and my posture. "Problem? I've already used your phone to text Gregson that we would be heading over to speak with Eileen Renfro. You might want to get dressed and do something with your hair, we'll be leaving in ten minutes with or without you," He said as glared at him before I picked up my alarm clock and threw it in the direction of his head. He ducked just in time and it connected with the wall before breaking, the pieces falling to the floor. Another alarm clock had fallen victim to my violent morning mood swings.

"OUT!" I shouted at John and Sherlock as I rose from my bed and stood on it with my other pillow in my hand. John bolted out of my room as if the enemy was at his heels, his sense of self-preservation obviously better than Sherlock's. I jumped off my bed and started smacking Sherlock with my pillow. He raised his hands, blocking my attempts to hit him as he backed away from me and out of my door. As soon as he got out of my room, I grabbed the door and slammed it shut. I let out a snarl as I collected my other pillow and threw them onto my bed. I heard Sherlock muttering something about women and mood swings as I ran a hand through my hair before grumbling and going over to my bed. I pulled off my pyjamas and pulled on the clothes Sherlock and thrown at me before I grabbed my case bag and left my room, slamming the door behind me as I crossed over to the bathroom and proceeded to close the door loudly behind me.

I could hear John talking with Sherlock in the living room, telling him that he had not handled that properly at all. You think Watson! I started brushing my teeth, Anthea already having set my toothbrush and toothpaste out on the counter. As soon as I was done I started to pull my hair brush roughly through my hair. Once my hair did not look like a rat's nest I twisted my hair up into a bun before nodding at my reflection and leaving the bathroom. I walked into the living room and John immediately stopped talking before looking at me cautiously, as if he was worried about me throwing something else at him. Sherlock looked rather amused however and I narrowed my eyes at him before I walked right up to him and poked him square in the chest.

"Rule one, never wake me up if you value your life. Rule two, if you do wake me up, learn how to duck," I told him before steeping back and giggling at John's expression. "Sorry I threw a pillow at you John. I should have mentioned, I'm a violent morning person," I apologized to him before turning back to Sherlock. "As for you, if you ever come in my room and start throwing clothes at me again, you are going to be thankful that I only threw an alarm clock at you," I warned him. The cheeky bastard only shrugged at me before he crossed over to the door and started pulling on his greatcoat. I glared at him for a second before grumbling as I stomped over to the door and started pulling my boots on. When I looked up, Sherlock was holding my coat out for me. I stuck my tongue out at him before taking my coat from him and pulling it on. He draped my scarf around my neck before he put his own on. "Come along Watson," I said as I brushed past him and started down the stairs.

"Well that went better than I expected," I heard John tell Sherlock before they started down the stairs after me. I rolled my eyes as I reached the bottom of the stairs and headed out the front door. Sherlock and John followed me out and stood by the curbing as Sherlock attempted to hail a cab. I ignored them as I walked past them and into Speedy's the café just next door.

"What can I get for you this morning love?" The man behind the counter asked me as I walked in, still fixing my coat and scarf.

"A black coffee with two sugars, one coffee with just milk, and a coffee with milk and two sugars," I told the man who I assumed must be the owner. I pulled my wallet from my case bag as he turned at got the coffee orders ready. I looked at the pastries in the case by the counter. "Can I also get one of those croissants, one of the Danishes, and a piece of that cinnamon coffee cake?" I added as he handed me over a to-go tray with the coffees.

"Sure love, that will be nine quid," He told me as he got out a paper bag and a small box and started getting the pastries for me. I handed him over the money in exchange for the small box and bag of pastries. "Have a nice day love."

"You too," I told him as I left the shop. John was standing by the curbing, holding open the door of the waiting cab. I smiled at him as I passed him and slid into the cab beside the sufficiently annoyed Sherlock. John slid into the seat beside me and closed the door before the cabbie took off, looking back in his mirror at the brooding consulting detective. "Alright, coffee for you, just milk," I told John as I handed him his coffee. "Black with two sugars for you," I told Sherlock as I shoved the cup into his hand. "And one Danish for you and a croissant for you," I told the boys as I handed John the Danish and Sherlock the croissant, wrapped in napkins.

"Ta," John thanked me as he took a sip of his coffee. I nodded at him as I took a sip of my own brew and opened the box of my coffee cake. I riffled through the bag, taking out the fork I had been given and taking a bite of my breakfast. I knew that if it was up to Sherlock we would have just left without eating. I flicked my eyes over to him and found that he was actually nibbling on the croissant I had gotten him. I knew that even Sherlock Holmes would not be able to resist the flaky, buttery treat.

"You're both forgiven by the way," I remarked before taking another sip of my coffee. "You don't have to look so nervous around me John," I added and I watched as John visibly relaxed. "For future reference, wake me up with a ten foot pole," I joked as I grinned at John who laughed, looking relieved. I pulled my phone out of my inner pocket where Sherlock had thankfully put it back. I had one text from Gregson telling me to keep him updated with what I found out and to make sure I kept things professional. And one very recent text from Mycroft telling me to try to refrain from throwing objects at his brother's head as much as he delighted in watching it. I snorted and deleted his text before sending Gregson a quick reply that I had everything under control.

We arrived at Eileen Renfro's flat and Sherlock bolted out of the cab, leaving John and I behind to pay the cabbie. John insisted on paying and I relented after a second. "Go stop him before he does something stupid," John told me as he nodded in Sherlock's direction. The man in question was holding down the buzzer by the door for Ms. Renfro's apartment building.

"On it," I told him as I sighed and walked over, slapping Sherlock's hand to get him to stop holding down the button. He rolled his eyes at me and I only snorted at him, raising my eye brows before turning back to the com system.

"Yes, hello?" A woman asked, obviously Ms. Renfro.

"Hi, Ms. Renfro? We're detectives with Scotland Yard, I was wondering if you might be willing to talk with us. We have a few questions with us relating to your case a few years ago," I told the woman, knowing that she would be more willing to agree to let us up if I did the talking rather than if Sherlock did. She had been victimized by a man, she probably had trust issues.

"Um…," She said hesitantly. I knew she was probably worried about letting us up. "Yeah, yeah fine sure. I'll buzz you in," She agreed after a long pause.

"Thank you," I told her as the door buzzed open. Sherlock pulled it open quickly and darted inside. I was surprised when he actually waited and held the door open for me and for John who had finally joined us again. We took the stairs, climbing the three stories up to Ms. Renfro's flat. I pulled my stolen badge from Scotland Yard out of my inner pocket. If I told her we were consultants for Scotland Yard she probably wouldn't believe us and might not tell us anything. If she thought we were the police however, we had a better chance of getting what we needed from her. It might not be right, but it would work. I knocked on her door and a few minutes later the nervous looking Eileen Renfro answered her door. "Good Morning, Ms. Renfro. I'm Sargent Donovan and these are my partners Holmes and Watson. Might we come in and ask you a few questions?" I asked her sweetly as I flashed her my stolen badge. I aimed an elbow into John's ribcage as he stared at me in confusion. He cleared his throat and smiled at the woman who looked between us questioningly.

"Sure…I guess so," Ms. Renfro told us, steeping aside and opening her door further. She was eyeing Sherlock who up until this point had been standing behind me, looking rather imposing with a frown on his face and his hands clasped behind his back.

"Delightful, thank you," He said with a fake smile as he gestured for me to take the lead. His entire demeanour had changed in a split second and now he was smiling, looking to all like the polite young man. I laughed to myself seeing him playing along with my grand act. I smiled at Ms. Renfro as I walked past her, followed by John and Sherlock. She shut the door behind us and escorted us into the living room.

"Would you like some tea? I could make some if you'd like?" Ms. Renfro asked us as she hovered by the door to her kitchen.

"Oh, no thank you. We won't be staying for long. We just have a few questions for you," I told her as I walked over to her couch and took a seat. John sat beside me, straight backed and very professional. Sherlock remained standing by my side and I looked up at him questioningly. He had been hovering around me since we had gotten here.

"Alright," Ms. Renfro said as she walked over and sat in the chair across from the couch. "What do you want to know?" She asked me as I opened my case bag and pulled out a picture of Amy Dampire.

"This is a picture of Amy Dampire, she was killed yesterday in her home by an intruder. She was strangled and the killer left behind a size eleven foot print," I explained as I handed her over the picture. "We have reason to think that your attacker might be the same man that murdered Ms. Dampire," I added as her eyes skimmed over the picture.

"I'm sorry. I can see why you think it might be the same guy. I just don't think I can help you," Ms. Renfro told me as she looked up from the picture.

"We know from the police report that the man who assaulted you wore a mask. That doesn't mean that you can't help us identify him," I told her as she handed me back the picture and I put it away in my bag. "Did he say anything to you?" I asked her as I looked back up at her.

"No. I came in through my front door and he was just…there," She told me and I nodded thoughtfully.

"Did he have a particular scent?" Sherlock interrupted. John snapped his head around to him and looked at him like 'What does that have to do with anything.' I however made a sound of agreement. He had a point. Sherlock and I shared a look and we silently conversed in a way only we could by reading deductions off of each other. I could clearly tell that he was thinking that she knew something about her attacker but was unwilling to tell us anything. You would think that if you told someone that another woman had been attacked like they had and had been murdered that that person might want to help in any way they could to bring justice. Ms. Renfro's first reaction was to tell us she knew nothing however. I raised an eyebrow at Sherlock which meant, 'Good cop, bad cop?' He nodded his head minutely in reply and I looked back at Ms. Renfro who was still looking surprised by Sherlock's question.

"Um…I don't think so," She told us as she furrowed her brow in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?" She asked me shaking her head. Definitely would have to do this the hard way. Good thing we had John with us. I had a plan and I would need him to do exactly like I thought he would in order for it to be successful.

"Was he tall? Short? Somewhere in between?" I interrogated her, smiling briefly to myself as I thought about how that referenced the three of us. I was right in between Sherlock's height and John's. Ms. Renfro started to look flustered as I asked her more questions. She certainly knew something but she was hiding it.

"I don't know! I mean he was on top of me so quickly, his hands were around my throat," She told us getting defensive. John shot me a look, a silent question that asked 'what the hell are you doing?' Perfect, he was already doing exactly as I planned. Sherlock and I would interrogate Ms. Renfro and when John thought we had crossed a line, he would come to her defence and in the process get the information we needed. It was simple and effective.

"And what about the mask?" Sherlock asked her as he clasped his hands behind his back again, scanning her face for any dead giveaways like I was.

"What about the mask?" Ms. Renfro asked us in confusion.

"Was it ski, Mexican wrestling, paper plate?" I asked her, clarifying what Sherlock meant.

She stared back at me for a long moment before finally answering. "Ski."

"Good. Excellent. So you got a good look at his eyes. Correct me if I'm wrong but a strangler can literally not be more than arm's length from his stranglee. That's what? Two…," Sherlock said before John cut him off with a warning.

"Sherlock," He said as he looked at me, nodding in Sherlock's direction to tell me to cut him off before he could continue. We both ignored him however as I picked up for him.

"Sherlock is right. He couldn't have been more than two and a half feet from you," I said as I put my arms out in front of me and mimicked holding someone by the throat at arm's length. "I'm twice that difference from you now. I can see that your eyes are a lovely brown," I continued as Ms. Renfro played with the necklace around her throat. She had her arms hugged around her, a defensive gesture and a nervous one.

"I think I'd like you to leave now," She told us firmly as she made to get up and show us to the door.

"Why? 'Cos we know that you're lying?" Sherlock asked her at which point John cut in again.

"Alright, that's enough Sherlock," John warned him, coming to the woman's defence perfectly. Now for me to play my part in the finally manifesto.

"No she is lying. Why? Why lie?" I asked Ms. Renfro before Sherlock picked up for me again like we had done before when interrogating John.

"You can tell by the crucifix. You fiddle with it every time we ask you a question. It's a pacifying behaviour. It's just elementary haptic communication. Just read a book, would you?" Sherlock asked John rather rudely before continuing. "She did see her attacker's face!"

"Sherlock!" John shouted over him but Sherlock just kept on going like I knew he would.

"I think she might even know who she is. Lexi's already figured it out. She could tell you were lying after you started talking. It's so blatantly obvious, it would take an idiot to miss it."

"Get out!" Ms. Renfro ordered Sherlock and me darkly.

"You do realize that because you protected him two years ago, you have the blood of an innocent woman on your hands? Perhaps you'd like to go for two or three or four," I added, finishing off what we had started. I also said exactly what I knew would get her to talk to John after we had been forced out. Guilt was a perfect motivator for the conscious.

"That's enough!" John shouted as he got to his feet, looking at Sherlock and me furiously. "You're done here. Go wait outside," He ordered us as he pointed towards the door. I stared back at him challengingly for a second before getting up and following Sherlock to the door. He opened it in front of me and waited for me to pass him. As I did so, I grinned at him as he smiled down at me. Our plan had worked perfectly.

"Arseholes," I heard Ms. Renfro comment as Sherlock followed me out into the hall to wait for John.

"I'm… I'm really sorry about them," John apologized as Sherlock made a point of slamming the door shut to mark our exit.

"Well that worked exactly as planned," I remarked as Sherlock and I headed down the stairs.

"Perfectly. Good work. I must say, I didn't think you would think to see if there were any related cases," Sherlock commented as we reached the first floor. I froze in shock over Sherlock's compliment as he walked on ahead of me. I shook myself before following after him.

"Thanks, I do try to be more competent that the police," I told him nonchalantly as if his compliment hadn't registered on such a high level. Inside I was preening my proverbial feathers. I was still at the point where I was just getting back into working again and was slightly doubting that I still had it in me to solve cases like I used to. I didn't need Sherlock's praise, but it was nice to be recognized for my skill. No one ever told me that what I did was good work or brilliant.

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement as we walked outside and leaned against the building waiting for John to come down. "Nice touch with the badge."

I laughed at that as Sherlock smirked back at me. I nodded my head in his direction as I curtsied. "Thank you, I think I should win a BAFTA for that performance. I thought that if she thought we worked for Scotland Yard, she would be more apt to tell us what we wanted to know. When that didn't seem the case, it became apparent that we would have to rely on John's good heart to help us. It only helped that if she made a complaint to Scotland Yard she would be filing a complaint against Donovan. I still owe the woman for a few things," I told Sherlock as I leaned next to him, our shoulders touching. My phone dinged in my pocket and I pulled it out. Mycroft had texted me a low resolution picture of Sherlock and I smiling at each other in front of the building. I looked up at noticed the camera that was pointed in our direction. Sherlock followed my line of sight to the camera and huffed when he saw that it was trained on us. He crossed his arms and looked away from me.

"Why wouldn't John hurry up?" Sherlock snapped out impatiently as I texted Mycroft back.

"_**Great, thanks. Now you've put him in a bad mood,"**_ I typed out before deleting his texts and putting my phone away again. "He should be out in a second," I said as on cue, John walked out of the doors of the apartment building.

"What the bloody hell was that in there?" John demanded of us angrily as soon as he saw us.

"That was us having a plan. She did tell you who her attacker was didn't she?" I asked John who looked at me exasperatedly before he realized what we had done to him.

"You did all that because you thought she would tell me? I don't even want to know, I don't," John said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did she tell you?" Sherlock snapped out, still in his foul mood over his brother keeping an eye on him. This childish feud was going to get old pretty quickly. I got that they didn't get along, but this was slightly ridiculous.

"She said the name of the man that attacked her was a Peter Saldua. He was her brother's best friend growing up. His father was abusive so her parents took him in in his Sixth year of secondary school. (**A/N Equivalent to Senior year in the US)** Eileen heard from her brother that he works for a florist in Brixton," John told us, still not look happy.

"I knew it! I knew if we started a row in there and you came to her defence that she would very well tell you the truth. Excellent work Watson. See you are critical to our work," I complimented him. He shook his head at me as I pulled out my phone and dialled Gregson's number. He picked up on the second ring. "Hey Gregson, its Lexi. I'm calling because I believe we've found you the name of a strong suspect in the murder of Amy Dampier," I told Gregson as I put the phone on speaker so Sherlock and John could listen in. I didn't care about the odd looks we were getting by passers-by.

"Name wouldn't be Peter Saldua by any chance, would it?" Gregson asked me and I frowned at that as I looked at Sherlock. What were the odds of that?

"How did you know?" I asked Gregson as I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like the answer he was going to give me.

"'Cos I'm at his house and I'm looking at him right now," Gregson answered me and I opened my eyes, staring back at Sherlock.

"Please tell me that means you have him in police custody?" I asked him hopefully, but from the look on Sherlock's face I knew that that wasn't the case. Perfect, the only lead we had was dead.

"Technically yeah. He's all ours," Gregson told us and I sighed heavily. "Come down to the crime scene, I want you to take a look," He told us and I nodded at his confirmation of my thoughts.

"Alright, we'll be over soon," I told Gregson. I got off the phone with him after he gave me the address to the house Saldua rented. "Well this is interesting," I remarked as Sherlock hailed us a cab. That little light of excitement was back in his eyes, his bad mood forgotten at the prospect of another body.

"Is it always like this?" John asked me as a cab pulled up by the curbing and Sherlock opened the door and slid inside.

"All the time," I told John with a grin as I slid in after Sherlock. I took a sip of my cooling coffee and waited for John. He stood there, looking back at us before shaking his head and sliding in after me. I gave the address to the cabbie and he sped off towards Brixton where we had the body of Peter Saldua waiting for us. I turned to Sherlock and we looked at each other and grinned in that little way only consulting detectives could.

"What have I gotten myself into?" John asked himself and Sherlock and I both grinned, his deep baritone chuckle mixing with my high pitched bell laugh. Oh, if only John knew. This was only the beginning.

* * *

**(A/N) And that is it for this week. Another chapter coming at you next week. I am starting to edit some ahead because I am getting into finals week. I'll be going on holiday soon and I won't have wifi for a week, but I already have someone who is going to upload the chapter for you. Just finished the first case that features Sherlock's POV. Wow...just wow. It definitely went places I didn't originally think it was going to. **

**WE FINALLY DID IT! This little story finally reached 100 followers! Thank you all so much. I never expected to get this kind of response when I decided to post the first chapter. I'm so glad that you think Lexi is as fantastic as I do. Cheers and as Lexi would say, don't judge me with your judgy eyes for my enthusiasm.**

**Notes on reviews: Thanks for that, I tried it and it worked. Thankfully FanFic got its bugs fixed. Yes! Sherlock and Lexi are getting a bit flirty :) We'll certainly see a bit more of that in the next few chapters. I don't think Lock actually realizes he is doing it and Lexi is just doing what feels right when it comes to Lock. In reference to the first chapter with Sherlock's POV that I just wrote, something has certainly changed between them. Just keep reading sweetie! I have so much planned for the two of them. **


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